


Rumour Has It

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Trip to Sherlock's Parents' House, Fake Relationship, First Time, Flirting, Holmes Family Tradition, Insight into Sherlock and Mycroft's Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, Mycroft Tricks John and Sherlock, Pub Quiz, Sherlock's Childhood Bedroom, Smoking, Sunday Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because of Mycroft's lie, Sherlock and John must spend the weekend with Sherlock's parents, who think the two men are a couple. Will they be able to fool the parents or will they blur the lines themselves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Favour, A Big Favour

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John was just finishing up at work when a phone call was put through to his office. He stared at it for a minute and debated letting it go to voice mail. He was tired and really wanted to get home. He sighed and lifted the receiver. "Dr. Watson speaking," he said, sinking back down into his chair. 

"John, how are you?"

"Mycroft? Why are you calling me? What's happened to Sherlock?"

"Nothing, John. Nothing. I just wanted to let you know that there is a man coming to your office with an acceptable suit, and a list of things you shouldn't talk about at dinner."

John's brows furrowed. "Mycroft, what on earth are you talking about?" 

Mycroft chuckled softly. "Have you not spoken to Sherlock yet? I just got off the phone with him an hour ago. You should talk to Sherlock."

"Mycroft, what are you--" The line when dead and John was staring at the phone, wondering if a number was saved to call back. Before he could look, there was a knock at his door. He sighed and got up, pulling it open. "Look, tell me what -- " The man shoved the box at John and was gone before he could get any more words out. He locked up, hailed a cab, and started looking though the box. There was a very nice suit inside with a small list of words like politics, cases, and smoking. 

When he finally got to the flat, Sherlock was lying on the sofa. John dropped the box on the coffee table and shoved his leg. "Care to explain this?"

"Ah, yes," Sherlock said, without looking at John. "I meant to tell you . . . rather I thought very hard about the best way to tell you and I think I thought about the conversation so many times in my head that I just assumed we'd actually had it." He sat up a bit, but still did not look at John. "I'd like to invite you to my parents' house and I hope you say yes, because I have already told them we'd come."  
  
John stared at him, then at the box and then back at Sherlock. "I can't, Sherlock I have a date this weekend and frankly, Mycroft sounded a bit too . . . giddy for my liking. I don't know what is going on, but I would like to be kept out of it." He went into the kitchen to find something to eat and considered making tea. He decided not to and started heating up the leftovers. 

"John, I do realise this is very inconvenient, I really do," Sherlock said, looking over towards him. "However, I am afraid this is a very special circumstance and, while I know I'm not in the position to insist, if I were in the position to insist, I would insist. That's how important this is." 

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, you'll just have to go without me," he said. "What's the special circumstance anyways? I don't want to come and just be a referee for you and Mycroft," he said. He was torn between being angry at the suspicious, last minute plans and being flattered that Sherlock wanting him to meet his family.

"Mycroft won't be there this time," he said, standing and moving into the kitchen. "John, please, this is serious . . . it's my parents . . . they're not . . . well . . ." 

"What?" John asked, looking up at him. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Um, perhaps that's not quite the right word . . . " Sherlock said. "John, look at my face, please. You know I do not beg, but . . . I am, I'm begging. Mycroft has asked me to go, just for the weekend, and I am listening to Mycroft, John, can you not see that this must be quite serious? Could you not just reschedule the date . . . tell her it's family reasons. She'll understand."

John sighed with relief when he realised that no one was actually sick. He looked at Sherlock and felt his resolve breaking already. He knew he was going to go. He would do anything for Sherlock -- trying to put up a fight was useless. "Okay, fine. I will text her later and reschedule. When are we leaving?"

"Mycroft is sending a car in two hours. I've picked out some clothes for you and set them on your bed. I only went through the wardrobe -- not the drawers, I felt that might be too forward of me," Sherlock said. "I'm going to have a shower now."

"You're welcome!" John called after him. He left his food since they would be eating in a couple hours anyways, and he grabbed the box with the suit before heading upstairs. He dug out a small duffle bag and piled in the clothes Sherlock had put out, tossing in a few pairs of pants and socks and undershirts. He took his work clothes off, refreshed his deodorant, sprayed on some cologne and opened the box. He didn't even bother wondering how Mycroft knew his size, but the suit fit him very nicely. He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to make his hair a bit more presentable. Then he brought his packed back down and sat in his chair waiting.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom and saw John. "You look . . . very handsome," he smiled when he said it. John did indeed look very handsome. "But . . . that's for dinner, not for arrival . . . Why don't you change into something more comfortable for the drive? Maybe something doctor-like? I mean . . . just be yourself."

"Oh," John said, feeling a bit silly now. "I thought...right," he nodded. He hurried up stairs and took the suit off, folding it back into the box and closing it up. He put on his dark jeans, a white button up shirt, and a navy jumper over it. He looked himself in the mirror again and left his room nervously, hoping this was good enough. Despite his reluctance to go, he still wanted to make a good impression.  

Sherlock went into his room and dressed. He put his toiletries into his bag and headed back out. He looked up at John and smiled. "Yes, that looks good, you still look handsome but more comfortable," he said. He handed John a packet of biscuits. "Here, put these in your bag in case you need a snack on the way."

"Oh, thanks," he said. "Is it going to be a long time before we eat?" His stomach growled softly, and he looked down at it as if he could scold it quiet. 

"It'll depend on how long the drive takes, we can always stop if you want," Sherlock said. He looked out the window. "The car's here. Let's stop downstairs to let Mrs Hudson know we're leaving." He put on his coat and grabbed his bag.

"We don't have to stop," John said. He was about to mention that he could just eat all of the biscuits when he realised what Sherlock said. Telling Mrs. Hudson they were leaving to see Sherlock's parents for the weekend was not going to do anything to help the fact that she thought they were a couple. But he found he couldn't bring himself to say anything, for some reason feeling guilty about making Sherlock lie about where they were going. So he simply shouldered his bag and kept quiet. 

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called as he headed down the stairs. She came to her door. "We're off now," he said.

"Tell your mother and father I said hello," she said. She looked up at John and then at Sherlock, who shook his head softly. "Well, have a good trip," she said, leaning in to give Sherlock a hug. She whispered, "Tell him before you arrive." Then she looked up at John and hugged him as well. "Good luck," she said, putting a little kiss on his cheek.

"Okay, that's enough," Sherlock said, turning. "Come on, John, let's go."  
  
They headed out to the pavement and got into the car. As the car pulled away, Sherlock turned to John and said, "Comfortable?"

John nodded, adjusting the bag at his feet. "Why was she wishing me luck? Should you be preparing me for anything?" he teased. Mrs. Hudson hadn't made a single comment about the trip, and for some reason that didn't sit well with John. 

"Do you remember earlier when I said my parents weren't well? That wasn't quite the right word . . . what I mean was, they're not . . . happy." He swallowed. "Like a lot of parents, well, mothers, I guess, mine feels the need to . . . interfere with her children's lives. I know she goes on, but I suppose I've just learned how to not hear it. However, Mycroft is not quite as clever in that respect, and the last time they spoke, he . . . improvised."

John narrowed his eyes a bit, suddenly remembered how positively amused Mycroft sounded on the phone. His breathing became very controlled suddenly. "Why am I coming to your parents', Sherlock?" 

"My mother wants her sons to be less . . . married to their work, let's say. She, mistakenly I might add, thinks that making that change would make us happy. To stop her from hassling him about his lack of a . . . companion, Mycroft offered her . . . us."

"Us," John said, matter of factly. "I am going to murder the both of you! Your parents think we are dating and no one thought to correct them? Is that what we're going to do now? Are we going to set them straight?" Somehow he knew that wasn't the case, but he had to hold out a bit of hope. It was bad enough little thoughts kept slipping into his brain now and then but this -- he couldn't do this!

"I'm afraid not. Mycroft told her you and I are a couple. The purpose of this weekend is . . . to convince her of that fact. There it is. I have a feeling that you might be angry about this. Do you think you'll be able to be angry during the drive because I don't want them to assume I've chosen an angry boyfriend."

John couldn't help an exasperated laugh. "Oh yes, how very inconvenient for you. Let me just get myself under control," he snapped. "Are you guys insane? How are we supposed to fake that -- I mean -- why can't we just tell them? We can say he misunderstood the relationship or . . . or he believed the rumours . . ." His anger faded as he tried to find a way out but then swelled up again. "You tricked me! You tricked me into coming because you knew that I wouldn't!"

"Now John, listen. You seem to have misunderstood me. The goal is not to refute Mycroft's story -- it's to prove it. But don't get so worked up. You just said it yourself -- at the flat, we just live our normal lives and, as you never seem to stop pointing out, people already think we're a couple. It's not like I'm asking you to . . . consummate our relationship in front of them. I really believe that we can be as we normally are, and that'll do the trick. They'll just be using the word boyfriend instead of flatmate or . . . friend. That'll be it, I'm sure."

"That won't be it! Mums want to know . . . stuff. When we realised we wanted to be more than friends, who asked first, how did the other respond, where was our first date, what are our plans for the future, what we see in the other, what's our favorite thing about them -- " He was rambling on as questions fired in his head. "We need a back story and side stories so we can be prepared for what she might ask! And couples . . . I mean, kissing good morning, holding hands, pet names! Will we have to sleep in the same bed? Didn't anyone think to plan this out?"

"John," Sherlock said sternly. "Listen to yourself: do you really think that neither Mycroft nor Sherlock Holmes 'thought to plan this out'? Here," he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to John who looked it over.

FIRST MEETING: Mike

FIRST DATE: Angelo's

FRIENDS: Mrs Hudson, Graham and his wife, William and Harry (gay)

FIRST FIGHT: John pouting about Sherlock's sleeping habits

FAVOURITE GIFT: A leather bound copy of a book from childhood (John: Just William, Sherlock: Charlotte Sometimes)

FAVOURITE PERSONALITY TRAITS: Sherlock's cleverness, John's loyalty

FAVOURITE PHYSICAL TRAITS: Sherlock's hair, John's smile

WOMAN: Mary

MAN: Henry

"No pet names," Sherlock said. "They'd never believe I'd allow anyone to call me by a pet name."

"I -- oh," he mumbled, looking the paper over. Suddenly he didn't like how formal it all was despite his little panicked speech. He set the paper down between them and pinched his nose as he thought about it all. He could fake it for two days, couldn't he? If he told stories about things they actually did -- then he remembered the note and not mentioning the cases. Okay. But he could still . . . just come up with things. It was just two days. He sighed a bit defeatedly. "What else do I need to know?"

"John, please," Sherlock said reaching over and tapping his leg quickly. "Don't look so worried. Mostly all we have to do is tell the truth -- talk about cases, places we really have gone. Even arguments we've had. There's a plethora of information already there."

He looked out the window for a moment. "Here's the thing: my mother's the clever one, so if you start to feel uncomfortable, turn your focus to my father. I really do not believe my mother will try to deliberately trip up either of us, I think she'll just be more . . . pleased. The names at the bottom are our back-ups. If one of us ends up having to make something up, if it involves a man, his name is Henry and a woman will be called Mary. So if she brings it up to the other one, we'll be able to use the same name." 

He pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and took a sip. "And yes, I'm afraid we'll have to share a room. I really don't see why that needs to be a problem. As far as touching and kissing -- you seem to forget that my parents have known me my whole life. Do I seem like the touching, kissing type? I'm afraid even a handsome doctor boyfriend is unlikely to change that. No offense, obviously."

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Mycroft said not to talk about cases," he said, pulling the note out for Sherlock. "I'm sorry I overreacted. I -- it'll be fine. Just two days, right? I can do that."

"Not the details -- I mean, places, things like that. Not the cases themselves, she needs to believe you are the most important thing in my life so nothing about my or Mycroft's work, which I suppose would mean no politics," he glanced down at the note. "And he's right, definitely don't bring up smoking." He handed the note back to John. "But really, John, just be yourself. You're lovely, you know, just the kind of man any mother would be proud to have as a son-in-law." He immediately looked out the window again.

John stomach flipped, making him smile softly and distracting him for a moment. Then his brain caught up. "Son-in -- does she think we're engaged? I thought I was just your boyfriend! If I'm your fiancé that's going to require extra stories, Sherlock."

"No, he didn't say we were engaged. It was just a figure of speech," Sherlock said. "Besides, don't flatter yourself -- I'm not about to give my hand in marriage so quickly, even if the sex is mind blowing." He pulled a face at John. 

John flushed lightly, huffing out a breath and punching Sherlock's arm playfully. "That's not funny!" He laughed quietly. "I'm already stressed enough about this. You think this is going to be easy, but you'll see. It's going to be a difficult two days," he warned lightly.  

"No domestic violence, please," Sherlock said, rubbing his arm as if John had hurt him. "Listen, you've been to war, you're dealt with complex medical emergencies and you've been in some pretty dodgy situations with me. This will be much easier than any of that. I promise," he smiled at John to convince him (and a little bit to convince himself as well).

"Right. I'm just going to think of it as an undercover mission," John said. He tried not to think about how long they'd have to keep up the charade after they left, or if some story would leak through about a tragic break up. He wondered how his mother would feel about that. "I'm sorry I got so mad. I suppose it's not the worst thing."

"No, Mycroft being there as well -- that'd be the worst thing," Sherlock said. "Anyway, how was your day?" Sherlock could see it wouldn't be too much longer until they arrived and he wanted things to feel more normal for both of them before they got there.

"Long," John said. "I'm kind of hoping we can get to bed quickly tonight," he admitted.

"Yeah, look, if you want to avoid uncomfortable dinner conversations, you might want to avoid phrases like that," Sherlock said. He looked at his watch. "We'll probably eat soon after we arrive. They seem to eat earlier and earlier every year. You won't need the suit -- that'll be for Sunday. Tonight's dinner will be something light, we might be able to talk them into eating out tomorrow, but Sunday will be a big dinner cooked by my mother. She's a good cook, you'll like it."

"I'm obviously not going to tell everyone at the table I'm eager to get you upstairs," John smiled. "I'm just whining anyways. I'm excited to try your mother's cooking. Will Mycroft be there for that one?"

"Let's hope not," Sherlock said. He looked out the window. "Look, I've just been thinking here and I was wondering, hand holding -- definitely out of the question? I don't mean all the time, I was just thinking . . . it might be nice if they could see us walking up to the house like that. I mean, we don't have to . . . "

"Oh," John flushed lightly. "It's not out of the question -- I mean it'll be expected, yeah? We can walk up like that, of course."

"All right then," Sherlock said, smiling a little to himself. "Good." The car exited the motorway. "It won't be long now . . . any last questions? Should we have a safe word or something?"

"I don't think we can abort the mission now, Sherlock, safe word or not," he chuckled. "But if I need you to bail me out of a question I'll just . . . .rub my nose or something." He smiled.

"Okay, but don't accidentally rub your nose because I don't want us to end up in the middle of some farcical misunderstanding." He adjusted himself a little as the car pulled up to the house. He looked over at John and said, "Thank you for doing this, John. Thank you."

John looked over at him and smiled softly. He didn't know why they couldn't just tell his mum the truth, but now that he was involved he found himself feeling a bit excited. "Yeah, sure," he said. "No body parts in the fridge for two months," he added.

"Well, now that's just taking advantage . . ." Sherlock said, smiling. He got out of the car and went around to meet John on his side. He held out his hand and they headed up the path.


	2. The First Evening

"Far left window upstairs," Sherlock said, tilting his chin down, "the curtain's moving. Have you gleamed enough from my brilliance to deduce why that might be?"

John shouldered his bag and took his hand. "You mean something more than just we're being watched?"

"That's it," Sherlock said, "she's already watching us. I'm going to turn my head towards you now. Look at me lovingly, yeah?" Sherlock turned to look at John.

John looked over before he properly processed the words, and then his eyes found Sherlock's and he felt his face growing warm. "Is it working? Are you overwhelmed with my love?" he teased to cover it up.

"To be honest, John, it looks the same as it usually does, you're going to have to try a bit harder," he smiled genuinely. "And mine? A believable blend of love and lust?" He crossed his eyes and laughed a little.

"Catch me, I'm swooning," John laughed. "I don't think you're trying at all!"

"Don't push me, John, or I will kiss you two seconds before she opens this door and then you'll be sorry," he knocked at the front door and when he heard his mother undoing the lock, he squeezed John's hand.

"Sherlock!" his mother called out extremely enthusiastically, though she was looking straight at John rather than her son.

Sherlock said, "Mother, this is John."

John looked up at Sherlock and considered kissing _him_ just to show him up, but when the knocks reached his ears he simply gripped Sherlock's hand and waited. His mother was -- much different than he expected. Her hair was tied up with little fly-aways all over. She smiled kindly, and John couldn't help smiling back. "Hello, Mrs. Holmes."

"Please, call me Emily," she pulled John into an embrace and then moved to Sherlock. "Don't grimace at your mother, young man," she said, stepping back and opening the door wide. "Come in, come in, your father's in the kitchen -- he's in charge of dinner," she said, rolling her eyes. "Robert! They're here! Come say hello." She was staring at John as she called.

"Oh, all right," John nodded. After a few seconds he was forced to pull his eyes away, uncomfortable by her constant gaze. "Hello, John," Robert smiled. Instead of shaking John's hand he just held up his own which were covered in flour. "I'm making some dessert as well. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?" John smiled, adjusting his bag. Emily took it from him and set it by the stairs. "Oh, thank you."

"We're big fans of the blog. Didn't mention this, though," he grinned.

"Oh, well . . . that's more of a work thing," John said. Robert shrugged and excused himself, going back to the kitchen.

"Sherlock, show John your room so he can settle in. Then come down for a chat," she smiled, still looking at John.

Sherlock picked up his bag and John's and nodded for John to follow. He realised he hadn't said a single word since they walked in the house; he wondered if John would notice and what he'd make of it.

He opened the door to his old bedroom, which only slightly resembled his old bedroom. His mother had been keen to redo the house a few years back, but she seemed to have lost interest about half way through the process. The bed was now dressed with an obnoxiously patterned (though admittedly very comfortable) set of flowered sheets and blankets and way more pillows than any bed could possibly need. Three of the walls were painted rose and the curtains matched the bedding. The remaining wall had been left as is -- Sherlock's old desk was pushed up against it and the walls still held some framed certificates of honours and his degree. He walked over and opened his wardrobe, which contained some of his old clothes and even more pillows. He shoved these all to one side so there would be space for John and him to hang their clothes.

"If you're worried about the bed issue, there seems to be enough pillows in the room for us to completely build a separate bed to sleep on," he said awkwardly.

John examined the room and realised immediately that Sherlock's mother had done all of this because he doubted this is how Sherlock would have kept his room. He watched Sherlock making room in the wardrobe and then looked over at the bed just as Sherlock spoke. It was small, maybe a full size. "Um . . . no, that's okay. No one should have to sleep on the floor. It's just two days," John shrugged. 

"We'll be okay, this'll be okay, John," Sherlock said, softly. "Unless my father poisons us." He smiled, "Don't worry about my mother saying he's in charge of dinner. My mother is always in charge of everything. It'll be fine." He reached out his hand, "Here, let's hang up your pretty suit."

"I wasn't worried about that until you said it," John said. For a second he thought Sherlock was offering his hand for them to walk down together and he almost reached for it before Sherlock spoke. "Oh, yeah, here you go," he said, giving Sherlock the box.

"Mycroft does have good taste," Sherlock said, admiring the suit. "This colour suits you." He hung the clothes and then took a few books out of his bag. He walked over the side of the bed nearest the wall, before turning quickly and saying, "This is the side I always slept on -- is it okay if I sleep on this side?" 

"Yeah," John nodded. "I sleep on this side of my bed anyways," he said, pointing to the side closest to him. He kept to himself the fact that, when sleeping with another person, he naturally sought the warmth and curled close. If he pretended to not know he did it, he could play it off easier when it inevitably happened. He went back to hanging his clothes, thinking about what it would be like to wake up wrapped around Sherlock. His pale skin made John think of something cold, but his hand had been warm, the long fingers holding his own hand nicely. He pushed the thought away and instead tried to remember the sheet Sherlock had given him.  

"All right," Sherlock said, "let's go back down. I need a cup of tea." He held out his hand to John.

"Okay," John said, hanging up the shirt in his hands before taking Sherlock's. "Have you brought anyone home before? Like, to meet them, I mean?"

"No," Sherlock said softly. "Hence, her excitement. I'm sorry about this."

"No more apologising, okay?" John said, and he squeezed Sherlock's hand. "It's fine. I agreed. We're here. We'll get through the two days, and it'll be fine," he smiled. "Now go on before she yells at us," he teased. 

They headed back downstairs and moved into the kitchen where Sherlock's parents were. "Can I make us a cup of tea?" he asked.

"Robert, seriously? You haven't made the tea?" She rolled her eyes. "Here, you sit down, Sherlock, I'll make it." She rinsed the pot and got out cups and some biscuits.

"So what are you making?" John asked Robert. The kitchen already smelled delicious. 

"Cornish hens with roasted potatoes. And a cake," Robert smiled. 

"John takes sugar," Sherlock said.

"There's a sugar bowl on the table, Sherlock," his mother said. "Robert takes sugar as well," she said to John, smiling, as she set down the tray with the teapot, cups, milk and biscuits. "So what is it exactly you do, John? Medicine, right?" Sherlock rolled his eyes as she sat down on the table between the two of them, but she ignored him.

"I'm a doctor. I work at the surgery part time, just seeing patients. It's nice, easy," he smiled. He fixed up his tea and took a sip, humming softly. It was very good. 

"You don't write about that much," Robert said. 

"No. That's boring," John said. "And illegal." He laughed lightly but Robert just opened his mouth a bit and nodded, going back to cleaning up his ingredients. "Just because of patient confidentiality," he continued awkwardly. Robert nodded, smiling a bit wider. John glanced at Sherlock and took a big gulp of tea.  

"And Sherlock? He's a good boyfriend?" she asked. Sherlock humphed loudly, but she didn't even turn her head.

"I . . . yeah," John nodded. "It's certainly never boring," he smiled. 

"Hmm . . ." Sherlock's mother said.

"Mother, please," Sherlock said.

"Tell me, John," Robert said from across the room. "Where'd you meet my son? You don't look like you'd move in the same circles, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Robert, please," Emily said. "Sorry about that, John." She took a sip of tea. "So how did you meet?"

"I was looking for a proper place to live when I came back from Afghanistan and a mutual friend introduced us, you know, since Sherlock was looking for a flatmate. We hit it off from the beginning -- he was very charming," John smiled, remembering Sherlock winking at him. "Then he brought me along on the case and he fixed my leg so how could I not fall for him?" He glanced over and smiled wider. 

"Afghanistan?" Robert said, turning round and spilling food onto the floor. "What on earth were you doing there? Strange place for a holiday."  
  
Sherlock and his mother rolled their eyes.

"No, I'm a soldier. I mean, I wasn't there for holiday," John explained. 

"A soldier?" Sherlock's mother said, looking over at Sherlock slyly. "Why, that's surprising." There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"What's your rank? I was in the Army myself. Perhaps we could have a chat after dinner," Robert said.

"I was a captain," John said, agreeing to a chat after dinner about it. He was more curious about what Emily had said. "Sorry, is that, uh, his type or something?" He was trying very hard not to smile. 

"Oh, I wouldn't know anything about that," Emily said, looking down at her cup. "My boys don't talk to me about things like that."

John looked over at Sherlock with a small smile, his brows raised slightly. "Right, I suppose he wouldn't," John agreed. 

"And your mother . . . does she like Sherlock?" Emily asked.

"From what I've told her, yeah," John nodded, looking back at Emily. "We haven't had a chance to visit yet, but I'm sure we'll get there soon." John was finding it very easy to answer these kinds of questions -- they were together so much that it was easy to imagine. He finally understood how the rumours started.  

"Okay, I think my client's finished answering questions. Is he free to go or are you going to charge him with something?" Sherlock said. He was piling sugar cubes on top of one another.

"Stop fiddling, Sherlock," Emily said. "Is he like this at home?" she said to John.

"When's dinner?" Sherlock said, standing and opening the oven door to look in.

"Anytime now," his father said.

"I'll set the table," Emily said, moving the tray over to the counter and putting the cups in the sink.

"I'll pour the wine," Sherlock said, opening up a drawer for a corkscrew.

"I haven't picked any," Robert said.

"I'll go get one," Sherlock said, stepping out into the other room to choose a bottle.

Emily brought the plates and silverware over to the table. "He's not drinking a lot, is he?" she said in a hushed voice.

"Oh, hardly ever," John said. "Maybe a glass with dinner sometimes, when I can get him to eat," he smiled lightly. "Can I help with anything?" 

Emily shook her head. "And the smoking?"

"I've put a stop to it," John assured her. There was no need to mention the constant battle of finding the packs Sherlock was always trying to sneak and hide. 

Sherlock returned with a bottle of wine. He opened it and then poured a glass for each of them as Robert and Emily brought the food to the table.

"It smells good," Sherlock said, taking quite a big swig of wine. "I am starving," he added, refusing to meet John's eye.

"It does smell really good," John agreed. "We have take away a lot so I'm excited for a proper meal," he smiled. 

"That's not very good for you," Emily said. "Sherlock, you took those cooking lessons when you were younger. Don't let the man starve," she scolded lightly. 

"He just means recently," Sherlock said. "He's been working evenings the past few weeks so he's just been bringing dinner when he comes in. He's enjoyed my cooking plenty, haven't you, John?"

"Oh, yeah," John nodded. "When I used to work days I would come home to the most delicious meals." He realised they hadn't talked about how long they were actually a couple and he didn't know if he should say the cooking won him over or if he should say it started when they started dating. He didn't say anything.

Robert began serving the food. He loaded everyone's plate quite high. "Why don't you tell John what you've been doing with yourselves recently?" Sherlock said. 

Emily described her activities with the Women's Institute and eventually also talked a bit about where she worked before retirement. Robert talked about his garden and the recipes he'd been trying.

Sherlock drank two glasses of wine during dinner, but before long, his plate was clean. When Robert tried to put more food on it, Sherlock held up his hand, saying, "I need to save room for the cake, don't forget."

John accepted extra potatoes and told them about the clinic, sharing funny stories about odd patients. After the plates were cleared and more tea was made, Robert cut cake for everyone. It was wonderful. John asked Emily to tell him stories about a younger Sherlock, laughing when she said he always used to pretend he was a pirate with his dog. Sherlock didn't seem too happy about that and without thinking about it John reached across the seats and took his hand. He told himself it was for show, but he hadn't even thought about them seeing -- he doubted they even could because of the table but he held on anyways. 

Sherlock felt John's hand in his, and even though he wanted to give John a dirty look for encouraging this walk down memory lane, he didn't. He made a mental note that he now owed John one dirty look. He felt John's fingers brush against his skin -- it was quite nice, especially here where he rarely felt comfortable being himself. Or maybe it was because he had the wine. Whatever the reason, Sherlock found himself slowly stroking John's wrist.

"Don't worry . . . I did cute things like that as well when I was a kid, but you'll have to talk to my mum about that," John said, smiling smugly at Sherlock.

"I look forward to it," Sherlock said, sending darts with his eyes directly towards John. "Mrs Hudson sends her best," he said, turning towards his parents. 

Emily smiled. "That's kind, please give her our best regards." She fussed with her napkin a few times and then said, "Well, I'd better get started on these dishes." But she didn't get up. "Unless you boys would like to do them?" 

Sherlock huffed. "What about the dishwasher Mycroft bought you?"  
  
"Your mum didn't want it," Robert said, getting up to clean up his cooking dishes. "You know how she is."

"I don't mind helping," John said. "Come on," he tugged at Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock now owed John two dirty looks. "Yes, good idea, John," he said sarcastically. He turned to look towards his mother. "Even though I do all the cooking, I generally am the one who does the washing up as well -- you know, because John's always so tired from saving lives all day. But I don't mind being in charge of running everything at the flat, just to please him -- that's what love does to one, I suppose. Turns you stupid." He threw a dish towel at John and then filled the sink with hot, soapy water to start washing.

"Just for that you can do the washing and I'll dry," John grinned, standing beside the sink and holding a dry cloth.

"You two are so cute," Sherlock's mother said, bringing the plates over to the sink.

For that, Sherlock would definitely owe John a third dirty look.

John looked over at her and smiled. When she moved to the table John pointed to a spot on the plate Sherlock had. "You missed a spot," he grinned. He didn't know if his mind was now completely lost in the charade, but he couldn't help flirting with him. It was fun now, like a game to outdo each other.

"That's one of the many things I love about John," Sherlock said, flicking some soap suds at him, "his helpfulness."

"And what else do you love?" John asked, looking over at him deviously. "You hardly tell me enough."

Okay, Sherlock thought, now John was really going to get it. "The way you speak French to me," Sherlock said, "especially when you recite Rimbaud poetry." He shot John a look.

"Do you like Rimbaud?" Emily asked, excitedly. "I took a course on him many years ago, but he's my absolute favourite. [**' _Devant une neige un Être de Beauté de haute taille_. . .**](http://www.recmusic.org/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=23035)' Oh recite it for us, John, please," she said. Sherlock smirked as he looked into the sink, scrubbing a pot. John flushed and glared at Sherlock. "I don't -- I'm sorry. Sherlock is just teasing," he said awkwardly. He was going to kill Sherlock when they got to the room. 

"Oh," Emily said a little disappointed but quickly bouncing back. "Do you two want to watch telly or would like you to get an early night after your trip?"

"I think I'll go to bed," John said. "I had to work as well so I'd like to rest. I'm sorry I don't know the poem."

Sherlock looked over at John. "Yes, I'm tired as well," he said. "Thanks for dinner."

"I'm glad you've both come," Emily said. "It's been very lovely to meet you, John."

"You too," John smiled. "See you in the morning."


	3. The First Night

John moved for the stairs and the second they were out of earshot, he punched Sherlock's arm playfully. "That was mean! She got so excited, and I looked like an arse!"

"All's fair in love and war, John," Sherlock said, holding back a laugh. "You're lucky -- that was only the first on the list of the many, many things I love about you since my refusal to tell you is obviously an issue in our relationship." He grabbed his toiletries bag and pajamas and said, "I'll use the bathroom first."

"Yeah, right," John said, rolling his eyes and resisting throwing a pillow at him. He found his pajamas and waited for his turn in the bathroom.

Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror. It was strange, standing here where he had stood so many times and now John Watson was in his bedroom waiting for him. He wondered what his sixteen-year-old self would have thought about all this.

He went back to the bedroom and tapped on the door. "Can I come in?" he said softly.

John couldn't help but grin; he was in Sherlock's bedroom. _What the hell is wrong with you?_ he thought. He grabbed his clothes and opened the door. "You can . . . where's the bathroom, please?" He followed Sherlock's finger and stepped inside, leaning against the door for a moment. He was avoiding thinking about the end of his little to-do list: he'd brush his teeth, change his clothes and . . . join Sherlock in his bed. Just two nights, he reminded himself. He finished up and came back to the room, climbing into the bed. He lay close to his edge, but not obviously, and on his back staring at the ceiling. 

Sherlock had been digging in his bag and when John came back in, and he climbed into bed as well. "Do you like to read before bed or anything?"

"I didn't bring anything with me," John said. "But it's okay, I really am tired. I don't mind if you do, though, I can sleep through anything," he smiled.

"Maybe I'll read the newspaper on my phone, that way I can turn the light off," he said, leaning over and turning off the lamp. "It's been okay so far, hasn't it?" he asked, quietly.

John's brain told him that Sherlock was asking for his sake, to make sure that he was still all right with everything. But there was something about the quiet way it came out that made John feel like maybe it was more. "Yeah, Sherlock. It's . . .it's actually been fun. I know we live together anyways but it's different. I don't know. Don't worry, okay? Everything is good."

"So I'm a good boyfriend after all, then?" Sherlock said, rolling over to face away from John.

"Hey, I never said you would be a bad one," John countered. He turned his head to look at the back of Sherlock's, but only for a second in case he turned back suddenly.

"I didn't say you did, but as you said downstairs," Sherlock said, "it's always nice to hear."

John smiled softly. "You're the best boyfriend I've ever had," he said.

Sherlock turned over and pushed John a little. "Shut your face," he said. "Look, are you planning to be devious all day tomorrow? If so, I'll need to spend some time tonight thinking of comebacks. Or . . . we could call a truce."

John laughed and let his body relax so he moved easily when Sherlock pushed him. "I promise I will be nice tomorrow," he said. "I don't know what got into me today -- but if your mum offers baby pictures the truce is off," he grinned. 

"I was never a baby, John, you know that," Sherlock said. "Are they what you were expecting?"

"No," John shook his head. "I was expecting older versions of you and Mycroft. Scary, stern people that would make me feel small and stupid," he smiled. "They're wonderfully ordinary. Very nice people." 

"John," Sherlock said, "you are quickly becoming not my favourite boyfriend. You do realise you've just described me as a scary, stern, cruel bully. Is this your idea of pillow talk?"

"No! They were separate things!" John turned to face his as well. "My first thought was older versions of you guys. My second was the stern thing. You're not any of those things -- I didn't mean it like that. Although, you do make me feel kind of small sometimes," he admitted at the end. 

"Don't blame me just because you're short," Sherlock said. "I'm teasing. Do you really mean it though? Not that I make you feel like that, I probably do because I seem to do that even without noticing, but are you serious that it hurts your feelings? I don't mean to, you know."

John felt a bit guilty now because it wasn't really a big deal. Sure, the second it happened he didn't like it, but he knew Sherlock never meant it. "No, Sherlock. I'm just teasing. I know you don't mean to do it."

"Well, I'll try not to do it anymore or at least not as much," Sherlock said. "Any other problems or are you saving them until we go to couples counselling?"

John grinned. "Only the one where I would really like to sleep," he said.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Sleep well. Thanks again for all this." He lifted his phone but decided not to bother. He closed his eyes and tried to rest.

John turned on his back again and closed his eyes, already starting to drift off. He let his mind clear slowly until he was properly sleeping. It only took an hour for him to start moving. First he stretched his legs and felt Sherlock's legs -- warm against his feet. He sighed and turned onto his side, but in the process he also moved closer to Sherlock. He curled his head down so his forehead was pressed against Sherlock's ribs. He stayed like that for the rest of the night. Then, when he started to slowly wake up, he smiled feeling someone so close so he curled up, arm stretching over Sherlock's middle and body pressing close. He drifted off again, sighing contently. 

And then his eyes snapped open. He remembered where he was, who was next to him, and his face flushed darkly. He sat up quickly, then freezing so he wouldn't wake Sherlock. He was asleep -- or at least doing an excellent job pretending. John wondered how long ago he curled up like that and prayed Sherlock had been sleeping when it happened. Would he have woken up? If he did he hadn't pushed John away or woken him up. Maybe to avoid embarrassment? Maybe he didn't mind? Whatever the reason, John was glad he was up now because he was having a lot of . . . interesting thoughts anyways without adding this. He got up to use the bathroom, got dressed and headed downstairs for tea. He moved quietly, not knowing if anyone else was awake. 


	4. The Second Morning

Sherlock turned over when he heard the bedroom door shut. He wasn't quite sure what to make of John's cuddling. Was it just because of the charade -- was it in his subconscious? Or something else?

He waited a little while and then also got up. He found John in the kitchen. "Is there enough water for me to have a cup?" he asked.

"Yeah, I made a pot in case your parents got up soon," John said. "Did you sleep alright?"

"I did, did you?"

"Yeah," John nodded. "Do they usually sleep late? Maybe we can make them breakfast for letting us stay here," he suggested. 

"What? Letting us stay here? That's an odd way of looking at it." He looked over at the clock. "Well, if they're not up in a half hour, you -- we can start cooking and that'll probably rouse them." He sat down at the table next to John and took a sip of tea. "I wanted to ask . . . the cuddling thing. So what's that about?"

John choked on his tea, wiping his mouth off and catching his breath. For a second he considered pretending like he didn't know what Sherlock was talking about, but then he decided there was no point. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you -- I can't help it when someone else is in the bed. It's warm . . . more comfortable. I can sleep on the floor tonight," he said. 

"You needn't to do that," Sherlock said, "I was just curious." He drank some more tea. "I think I hear some movement upstairs. Should we get started on breakfast?" He stood up to check this fridge for options. 

"Maybe we can make eggs and pancakes? Everyone likes that," John said, looking around for bowls to use. 

"I used the last of the flour on the cake yesterday." 

John turned to see Robert standing in the door of the kitchen looking amused. 

"Oh. Well, maybe just eggs, then?" John said. 

"Nonsense. Sherlock and I will go get some quickly -- the shop is close."

"I've not showered yet," Sherlock said.

"Don't be a baby," Emily said as she came into the kitchen. "You're going to get flour, not a date. Anybody made tea yet?"

"John did," Sherlock said.

"Thank you, John, it's nice to see that you're civil in the morning," Emily said. "Get dressed, Sherlock, and go with your father. Robert, let me have a look and make sure I've got everything I need for tomorrow."

John grinned at Sherlock pouting like a child. "I hope you don't mind us invading the kitchen, I just wanted to do it as a thank you," he said. 

"Nonsense, John. We love having both of you here -- we wish he'd come by more often," Robert smiled. 

"I'm busy," Sherlock said. "I'm busy . . . looking after John." He huffed upstairs to get dressed.

"I was hoping he'd grow out of that," Emily said. "I hope he treats you well, John. Don't let him always get his way just because he pouts like that."

"That pout doesn't work on me," John smiled. 

"Gets me almost every time," Robert said. "That's how he ended up blowing up the shed and then all decisions had to go through Emily."

John grinned wider. "That hasn't changed at all, then."

Robert moved to the back door and put on his shoes. "All right, my dear, what else do we need besides flour?" he said, kissing the back of Emily's head.

"Quit," she said, swatting him away. "Get potatoes as well, it's better to have too many than not enough. John, anything else you can think of?"

Sherlock returned with his coat already on. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Nothing I can think of," John said to Emily, his voice a bit far away. Robert had kissed Emily because he was leaving for a few minutes. He glanced over at Sherlock who hadn't been there for it. It would have to be done -- it was the normal, couple thing to do. John walked over to Sherlock and stood on his toes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Have fun," he said. 

Robert smiled. "Ready, son?"

Sherlock swatted John away, saying "Quit fussing me." Then he looked at his mother and father and then at John and said, "Sorry." He leaned over and kissed John's mouth, before quickly turning and walking to the back door. "Come on, father," he said as he headed out.

John watched him with slightly wide eyes, actually bringing a hand up to feel his lips. Then he remembered Emily and the fact that he was supposed to acting like they did that all the time. He pressed his lip and pretended he had an itch before smiling over at her. 

"Don't walk so fast, Sherlock. We're going to the store, not racing," Robert said.

"Sorry," Sherlock said. He took out a cigarette and lit it. "Is mother driving you insane now that she's at home all the time?" He handed the cigarette to his father.

"They are going to taste this on us," Robert said, taking a drag anyways. "She doesn't let me hum while I cook." He handed the cigarette back to Sherlock. "You found yourself a good one," he said. 

"Yes, I suppose I have," Sherlock said. "I'm glad you like him. Do you think she approves?"

"Oh yes," Robert nodded. "Wouldn't stop talking about him last night. She suspected this from the blog, you know."

"That woman reads something into everything. There's nothing on the blog except work stuff," Sherlock said. He threw the cigarette end down as they entered the shop.

"I don't blame her this time," Robert said, holding the basket. "The man took what was supposed to be a personal blog and dedicated to you. That says something," he said.  

"The blog's not about me, it's about my work, our work. Some people do find that interesting, you know," he picked up a pack of gum for them to chew on the way home.

"I assume you haven't read the blog -- actually read it -- because there's too much romanticism for you? You like the facts, the cases? So where do you think all of that romanticism goes?" Robert smiled and took his basket to the check out, chatting with the girl behind the register before getting his bags to leave. 

Sherlock thought about what his father was saying and was about to fight back until he remembered the purpose of this trip. "I know John's a romantic," he said, "Opposites attract, I guess."

Robert merely smiled and then started to hum as they walked back home.  

"Here," Sherlock said, handing his father a piece of gum while trying not to be annoyed by the humming. "Look, can I ask a quick question before we get back? Obviously everyone in the world thinks John is great, but . . . what should I do, I mean . . . I know Mother loses her temper with you but obviously something's working there . . . should I try to be better than I am?" Suddenly the thought of John leaving -- as he'd threaten to do sometimes when Sherlock pushed his buttons -- seemed rather devastating to Sherlock. He'd always viewed it as John's way of pouting, but at this moment, he realised that if John ever did leave his life, he wasn't quite sure how he'd cope.

Robert took the gum and then smiled warmly at the thought of Emily always being upset. "Sherlock, people show their love differently. For your mother and me, it's her whining about my humming, but when I used to travel for work she's call me up at night and ask me to hum her to sleep." He smiled wider. "John loves you and I am pretty sure that if you tried to change now, not only would he notice but he probably wouldn't appreciate it very much. I assure you you're doing just fine -- he's already fallen for you. Don't over think it," he smiled. He started to hum again as he chewed his gum. 

In the kitchen, John poured himself another mug of tea and sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy it while he waited for them to come back. 

"Do you see much of Mycroft, John?" Emily asked, as she sat down next to John.

John shook his head. "He comes by every once in a while . . . I think they text a lot more though," he said. 

Emily asked, "Does Sherlock . . . stand up to him or is he still doing everything Mycroft demands?"

John's brow furrowed in confusion. "He used to take orders from Mycroft? I can't even imagine that," he admitted. "He gives Mycroft such a hard time," he said, smiling softly at the thought. 

"Good," Emily said. "When they were younger, Mycroft would give him an order and Sherlock would just jump. I mean, I know Mycroft has Sherlock's best interests in mind, but sometimes I worried he'd end up dependent on Mycroft to tell him what to do or save him when he got in trouble. Once when Sherlock was at university, Mycroft sent for him and Sherlock just left immediately, even missing his classes. It was ridiculous really. I'm glad he's not doing things like that anymore."

"No, he's not like that anymore," John assured her. 

Emily stood up and turned the kettle back on. "I hope you can feel at home here, John. I was so pleased when Sherlock called to say he was finally bringing you to meet us. I just want you to know that Robert and I both are really pleased you're in Sherlock's life. He's changed so much since you two met, and it's so nice to see." 

John smiled. "Sherlock's . . . not like anyone I've ever met. I was dating women before, you know." He felt odd admitting that for some reason. "But there was something about him." And then he realised that they weren't actually dating and he flushed, busying himself with his tea.  

"Sherlock is unique," Emily said. "Obviously, I'm probably a bit biased. But John," she leaned over and held his hand, "our family . . . we're not always good at . . . well, let's just say that from the outside, an act of love from one of us could easily be mistaken for an act of . . . bullying. I hope you are willing to accept Sherlock for who he is, without, of course, ever letting him be unkind. It's not an easy balance -- I hope that Robert and I have got it right, but I worry about the boys. I've never really seen them in any relationships except with each other, but I know that the balance isn't right there, or at least it wasn't. Maybe that's another change that's come with you, I don't know. I guess I'm just saying -- it's more than clear to all and sundry that Sherlock loves you and I'm glad you accept him despite his shortcomings. I know he gets easily afraid, I know he pouts, but he's not a child -- he's an adult in an adult relationship so . . . I guess all I'm saying is look after my son, but make sure he also looks after you . . ." She let go of John's hand and stood up, moving over to the counter. "I'm sorry -- I'm probably unnecessarily interfering. Sherlock would have a fit if he knew we were having this conversation. I'm sorry for butting in, John. They'll be back any minute, maybe we should get started on the breakfast?"

_It's more than clear that Sherlock loves you._ John sat there quietly for a moment as he processed those words. Clear? Sure everyone thought they were dating all the time, but did they often look like they were in love? "Emily . . . I just want you to know that -- well, I was surprised when he picked me of all people. I mean, there's nothing that extraordinary about me. I'm boring. But he's so . . . he helped me forget my psychosomatic limp and he always makes sure that I've eaten and he has tea ready when I come home from work and he texts me so I'm not bored and he lets me pick the movies -- " He cut off suddenly as a powerful wave of affection for Sherlock coursed through him. "I was very alone when I came back from the war, and he brought me back to life." He looked up at her, wondering why he was saying these things to her. "I really do love him," he said, a bit more quietly than before. He looked down at his half empty cup. He was in love with Sherlock.  

Emily moved behind John's chair. "You don't have to convince me, John -- this visit isn't about winning our approval. We've known for a long time. Even back when Sherlock was still insisting on calling you his new flatmate -- it was obvious then that the two of you were meant to be together. I've just never seen my son so . . . happy and you seem like such a good man, I guess I'm just asking you to be patient with his inexperience, but to keep him in check. He needs that -- it should be you, not Mycroft." She touched John's shoulder before turning back.

John could only nod, trying to keep his breathing in check. He was having a proper little panic attack, but he couldn't let Emily know and it was very difficult to panic without properly panicking. He thought about them coming home -- he wanted to see Sherlock desperately -- wanted to see if the signs were really there. Was Sherlock going to look any different now that he'd had this revelation? And what if Sherlock saw it -- read it on him like he read everything else? Would he get upset? Uncomfortable? 

"Here they are," Emily said, seeing the two of them opening the back gate. She brought a cutting board, knife and loaf of bread to the table. "Can you cut some slices, John?" she asked and then turned back, reaching for a big bowl before getting the eggs and milk out of the fridge.

"It took you long enough," she said as Robert came in.

"I missed you, too," he said to her. He put the bags up on the counter.

Sherlock took off his coat and then stood behind John's chair. He mussed his hair and then rested his hands on John's shoulders. "Was my mother cruel to you while I was gone?" he asked.

"Sherlock, please," Emily said. "When I die, I do not want either you or your father writing my obituary -- you'll have the whole world believing I was a very cruel woman."

John closed his eyes with the hair mussing and brought himself back to the game -- he had to think of it as a game so that he wouldn't freak out. He turned his head and kissed Sherlock's hand. "She was lovely. Showed me some nice pictures," he teased, tilting his head back. The top pressed against Sherlock's stomach as he looked up at him. "I'm kidding," he smiled. 

"Pictures! John, do you really want to see? I have an album for each boy," Emily said, cracking eggs into the bowl she had. 

John chuckled and started to slice the bread like she had asked him to. "Maybe later if Sherlock wants to show me," he said.  

Sherlock groaned at them both. The phone rang. Emily handed the spoon to Robert instructing him to stir and then she grabbed the phone off the wall to answer it.

"Mikey!" Emily exclaimed. "So lovely to hear from you!" She carried the phone into the other room to talk. After a few minutes she came back and handed the phone to Sherlock, saying "He wants to speak with you." Sherlock took it and stepped outside, walking part way down the path.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"And how goes it, little brother? Are you fulfilling your purpose there?" Mycroft asked.

"I am doing what you asked," Sherlock said, "but you really should be thanking John. It's not fair to have involved him."  
  
"I'm not sure I'm to blame for John being involved, am I?" Mycroft said. "Just tell me: does everyone in the house accept that you and John are in love?"

"Yes, they completely believe it," Sherlock said.

"That doesn't answer the question I asked," Mycroft said. "Just don't make a meal of this, Sherlock."  
  
Sherlock huffed into the phone. "You'll owe us now, but I won't mess this up for you."

"Not for me," Mycroft said, "for you." And then he hung up.

Sherlock walked back into the house, putting the receiver back in its cradle. "I don't know how you managed to raise such a childish son," he said to his mother, "but Mycroft really needs to . . . grow up."

Emily, Robert and John all glanced at each other, but no one said anything.

John looked back at Sherlock and tried to silently ask what had happened on the phone, but he knew Sherlock wouldn't tell him now. Or perhaps at all. And suddenly Emily's words came back to him, about Sherlock doing anything Mycroft said. The reality of this situation hit him very hard. He was used to Sherlock doing strange things so at first he didn't really think about it -- he didn't even really put up a proper fight. But now that he thought about it, who pretended to be in a relationship with their flatmate just because of a lie their brother told? He tried to ignore the fact that this little game had made him come to terms with his feelings and instead look at it objectively. "You know, I think I do want to see pictures. Come on, you," he told Sherlock, getting up and pulling him out of the kitchen.

When they were alone in the sitting room John stepped closer to whisper. "Why couldn't we tell them the truth before? I would like a legitimate reason -- because they're not unreasonable, Sherlock. They would have just brushed it off as Mycroft being silly."

Sherlock looked up to watch the door, but said quietly, "It was Mycroft's idea, but in all honesty, John, I don't think I know now why he even suggested. I feel like he's tricked me but I don't know why." He couldn't look John in the eye.

"So, if Mycroft came here and told them . . . I don't know, that we were getting married, would we have to do that? Plan a whole fake wedding because he said so?" John was trying to catch his eye, trying to be gentle with his words and not let on that his mother was actually worried about this and she had now made John worry as well.  

"No, it's just . . . it's just easier because he's usually right. Are you working for him now? Are you wearing a wire?" He leaned in. "Can you hear me, Mycroft? Were you just waiting for me to admit that?" He leaned back and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry, John . . . it's just, he's my brother and as obnoxious as he is, he's always . . . taken care of -- sorted things so . . . it's just easier to do what he says because he's usually right. I'm sorry he got you involved." 

_Usually right. I feel like he's tricked me but I don't know why._ What did Mycroft know that made this funny to him? Was this some sick way to make Sherlock come to terms with his feelings? No. Now he was projecting because of his own feelings. Sherlock didn't do relationships. Maybe that was why. Maybe Mycroft wanted to make him uncomfortable, but Sherlock showed him up by agreeing to do this weekend. "Okay. That's fine. I don't mind, Sherlock. Anything to show him up," John smiled. "Let's . . .let's go finish making breakfast, okay?"

Sherlock grabbed his hand as John started to walk away. "Wait, John, look, it's not fair that you got dragged into the Holmes family's dysfunction. We can end this now -- say we've got to get back to London or something. We can stop if you want to."

John looked over at Sherlock and then down at their hands. If they left now this would have to stop. They would have to go back to being flatmates and if that was going to happen then maybe he could sneak in a few more little moments like this before he had to give it all up. "No, Sherlock. We said we'd do the two days so let's . . .let's finish it, okay?" 

"All right then," Sherlock said, still holding John's hand, and led them back to the kitchen.

Emily said, "It's almost ready. Sherlock, can you fill the teapot?"  
  
Sherlock rinsed the pot and tipped the kettle in. "John was supposed to be making this. Really, he's always like this at home -- coming up with a good idea and then somehow leaving it to someone else to sort." He looked over at John and smiled genuinely. 

"That's because half way through I find body parts hidden in the things that I need to use! If you stopped bringing heads home maybe I could make you a proper meal," John grinned. 

"Heads? Sherlock really!" Emily shuddered. 

Robert came over to John. "He used to keep things like that in his room," he said quietly. 

"I knew about that, Robert, and don't think for one second I didn't know you were behind it," she scolded lightly.

Sherlock ignored his parents. "That's just my way of flirting with you," he said as he sat down at the table and wondered if perhaps it really was.

John opened his mouth to make a joke about the head and its implications before he remembered the company and flushed lightly. "You're very bad at it -- it's a miracle this ever happened," he said instead. 

Before Sherlock could reply, Emily said, "Oh I don't think so, John." She brought plates over to the table for both of them.

Sherlock ate some toast but managed to secrete most of the pancakes into his pocket via a careful napkin swipe when no one was really looking.

"I know you two were just out," Emily said, "but I thought we could go on a bit of ramble after breakfast --" she glanced up at the clock, "-- brunch rather. I thought it might be nice to get some fresh air into your lungs and John can see where you used to play when you were young."

"Oh, yeah," John nodded. "I would really like that." 

"Sherlock?" Emily said.

Sherlock looked up. "Whatever John wants is fine by me." He took a sip of tea.

"I want to see where you used to play," John smiled. He looked over at Emily. "You're not taking us to the morgue, are you?"

"The morgue? Sherlock, is he joking? I don't understand."  

"John's just teasing me," Sherlock said. "Yes, that's our John . . . such a tease." Sherlock stretched his leg out under the table and pressed his foot against John's. 

John looked up at Sherlock before smiling at Emily. "I'm kidding," he said. "I tease him about how much he works."

"Oh. Yes, that is a drag sometimes," Emily said, looking over at Robert. "But you just have to find little things . . .make time," she smiled.

"I think we have a good balance," Sherlock said and then felt a bit stupid for saying it. "I mean, John has his job at the surgery, I do my work, he sometimes helps with my work, but we also make time for each other that's not work-related. . . wouldn't you say, John?" He was curious about John's answer now.

John moved his eyes back to Sherlock. "Yeah," he nodded. "There's certainly nothing lacking," he smiled, holding Sherlock's gaze. Not to be outdone, John pushed his socked foot into Sherlock's pant leg and rubbed his leg. No one could see but he wondered how Sherlock would react. 

"That's good," Sherlock said, looking over at John. "If there's anything that is ever lacking, I trust you'll let me know."

John huffed very slightly at the lack of reaction and he moved his foot away. "You know I will," John said, holding his gaze for a second longer before going back to his breakfast. 

"I said that was good, John," Sherlock said, stretching again to reach John's foot.

"I think he heard you," Robert said.

"Sorry," Sherlock said, "I wasn't sure I made myself clear." He rubbed his leg against John's ankle.

"Good that I'll let you know?" John clarified without actually asking. He pressed his foot against Sherlock's. 

"It's all good," Sherlock said, smiling slyly.

"All right then," Emily said, crinkling her forehead. "Breakfast okay, everyone?"

John was saying everything he couldn't in his head and hoping it was getting across to Sherlock from his eyes. "Everything is delicious -- much better than if I had tried to make it," he said. 

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, it's good, Mother," he said, turning to Emily. "John and I can do the washing up while you get dressed for the walk." He stood up from the table and took his plate to the sink. He put the mixing bowl in with it and filled it with hot soapy water.

"I'm ready," said Robert. "I can help as well."

"I'd like to take a shower actually," John said, standing up. 

"Sure, dear, let me get you a towel," Emily said. "Oh, and Sherlock, you've got a bit of pancake there, in your pocket."

John grinned as he heard Emily scolding him for not eating, hurrying upstairs to get his clothes. In the shower, he slumped against the wall and thought about what happened at the table. No one could see their legs -- they didn't have to do that for their charade and yet . . . His mind drifted off to them lying down in bed, to what their bodies felt like together, to be touching Sherlock's skin and holding him. He closed his eyes and felt heat flooding slowly downwards. Trying to ignore the fact that he was in Sherlock's parents' bathroom, he slid a hand down and started to stroke slowly. His usual images were replaced with Sherlock. It wasn't very long before he was panting softly, mumbling Sherlock's name. He imagined Sherlock climbing over him tonight, kissing his mouth and neck -- he came before he could get any farther. He blinked his eyes open, feeling slightly ashamed, finishing up quickly. He got dressed and headed downstairs, avoiding everyone's eyes, especially Sherlock's. 

Once John was in the shower, Sherlock and his parents tidied the kitchen quietly. When the post came through the front door, Emily dried her hands and headed to the front to retrieve it. "There'll be no smoking on this walk, please," she said to both of them as she left the room.

Sherlock and Robert looked at each other. Emily brought the post into the kitchen as John came down. "You look nice," she said to John.

Sherlock looked up and saw John's flushed face. "Yes, you look quite satisfied." He raised his eyebrow slightly. "That was a bit faster than you usually take at home. You must have been rushing. Did you do _everything_ you usually do in the shower -- I mean, did you wash your hair?"

"Sherlock, stop harassing, John," Emily said.

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "What you do in the shower is none of my business, I suppose."

Robert look dumbly around the room. "Are we going on a walk or what?"

Of course he knows, John thought. But hopefully he had no idea what was going on in John's head during it. Sleeping was going to be terribly awkward tonight. He felt sick at the thought of getting an erection in bed, curling against Sherlock and having it press into his leg. 

"Are you all right, John?" Emily asked, looking over at him.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, fine," he smiled. "Let's go, then." He shut an imaginary door around those thoughts and tried to focus on the wall and what he was seeing.

Sherlock moved into other room and retrieved John's coat. When he came back, he helped John put it on before putting on his own. He turned quickly on his heels and said to John, "Do you want to wear my scarf?"

"Your . . ?" John furrowed his brows for a moment before figuring that he should accept, despite the strangeness. "Yeah, all right," he nodded.

Sherlock walked over to John, lifted his coat collar and placed the scarf around his neck. He tied it underneath John's chin. "There," he said softly. "You're only missing the cheekbones now." He leaned in and gave John a quick kiss on the mouth and then turned, saying, "Let's go."

The scarf -- or rather Sherlock putting the scarf around him -- made him feel like there was a little wall that no one could see through. Caught up in how close they were, John pressed into the kiss and then felt odd when it was over. He blinked as if he'd just woken up, shook himself out of it and followed. "It feels silly," he said, adjusting it. "I never wear scarves."

"It looks nice," Emily said, smiling at both of them. "Come on then."


	5. The Second Afternoon

The four of them went through the back garden and out the gate to a small path that marked the perimeter of some woods. Emily was tour guide, filling John in on details of activities that Sherlock and Mycroft had got up to during their childhoods. Sherlock let the three of them walk a bit ahead of him so he could watch John. He tried to figure out what was going on in his own head. Or perhaps it was in his heart. Either way, it was a strange mix -- a confusing yet comforting feeling.

John listened with an amused expression, fidgeting with the scarf and enjoying the smell of Sherlock that lingered on it. He couldn't help glancing back at Sherlock, smiling and teasing him when he could. He kept forgetting that they weren't actually dating and saying things he knew he'd remember with embarrassment later. But he was caught up and he liked it.

After a while, Sherlock moved in next to them all and said, "John and I would like to take you to out to dinner this evening. Nothing fancy -- just the pub if you'd like, but it'd be our treat." He grabbed onto John's hand as they walked.

John laced their fingers instantly. "Yes, please, it's the least we can do after flaking out on breakfast," he smiled.

Robert grabbed Emily's hand. "Shall we let them take us to the pub then, dear?"  
  
"All right," she said. "But I'm happy to cook if you'd rather."  
  
"That's tomorrow," Sherlock said. "I've told John all about Sunday dinners."

"About the tradition?" she asked.

"Well, not exactly," Sherlock admitted.

"John," Emily said, "my father was a rather stern fellow -- "

"He was mean," Robert interrupted.

"Well," Emily said, "yes, I suppose he was rather mean. But I'm focusing on his being stern right now, Robert. He was stern, liked a schedule and did not show affection. One of the traditions in my house was a very formal Sunday dinner. I think it started because we'd eat after church and be dressed up anyway, but once we stopped going to church, we'd still have to get all dressed up and my mother'd cook a big meal and we'd all eat in silence. It wasn't very nice really, but at the same time, it was clearly important to him -- you know, it showed us his family was important. When Robert and I began our own family, we decided to continue the tradition but make a few modifications. We'd still make it formal -- it's nice to get a bit dressed up, you know? -- but it had to be nice family time. We'd go around the table and everyone would say something nice and any grievances we had would be worked out." She smiled at the memory. "Well, that's how it used to be. I'm afraid once Mycroft hit his teens, his personality seemed to shift towards, well, my father's and he out and out refused to participate in the talking. But still, we've kept it up. Did you bring something nice for tomorrow? If not, you could borrow something of Robert's . . ."

"Yes, Sherlock helped me get a suit. I think that sounds nice. I haven't had dinner with my family -- haven't seen my family in years," he admitted. 

"That's a shame, perhaps you could bring them down here sometime -- we'd love to meet them," Emily said. They rounded the woods and were approaching the back gate.

"I -- things are a bit complicated but . . . maybe someday," he smiled.

"Why don't I make us some tea and we can have a drink out here," Emily said, brushing the table and chairs off a bit. "It's quite a nice afternoon, really." She headed inside.

The three men sat down on that table. "The pub's landlord has changed since you were last here. His jokes aren't as good, but the food's better now," Robert said. "Still just pub food, but quite nice."

"Did you go there a lot when you were younger?" John asked Sherlock. "I can hardly imagine you eating so much," he smiled.

"Sherlock was never a big eater, to be fair," Robert said. "But it was our local and I like used to take the boys there quite a bit. They were always good on the pub quiz team." He smiled wistfully.

"Yes, I could see that," John smiled, looking over at Sherlock. "I bet you guys won every night."

Emily came out with the tea, sitting down with them and wondering what they were talking about.

"Just telling John about the quiz nights," Robert said.

"There's one on tonight, as you well know, Robert," Emily said.

Robert blushed. "Well, boys, what do you think? Shall we play after we eat?"

John smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I think that sounds like a lot of fun," he said.

Sherlock smiled. "Okay," he said.

"No fighting, though, no stress -- only for fun. Everyone agree?" Emily said.

Robert and Sherlock nodded. "There have been . . . issues in the past," Sherlock explained to John. "But it was mainly Mycroft."

"What happened?" John asked, taking a sip from his mug. "Arguing with you or the pub?"

"Um . . . both," Sherlock said. "It doesn't matter -- it was when we were young . . . and it was Mycroft's fault anyway."

John glanced around but realised that no one wanted to really get into it so he let it go. "Well, I am looking forward to it. Do they give prizes or anything?"

"It's a pound per person to play and then the winning team gets the money -- well, you've also got to buy the quizmaster a drink," Robert explained. "But it's not for the money . . . it's for the glory."  
  
Sherlock smiled at his father and then his mother.

"Well, I think I'll have a shower now," Robert said, looking at his watch. "The quiz starts at seven so we should make sure to leave plenty of time so we're finished eating by then." He got up and shuffled into the house.

"Thanks for agreeing to this," Emily said. "He really misses doing the quiz nights. But seriously, Sherlock, behave, yes?"  
  
"I will," he said. "I'll need to shower when Dad's done. I think I might go have a lie down until then. John, do you want to join me?"

"Um, yeah, all right." John stood up and took the cups inside for Emily. "Do you need anything?"

"Oh, no John, thank you," she said. "Go on up and rest."

"Okay," he nodded, turning to follow Sherlock upstairs. He took the scarf off and held it in his hand as they climbed up. 

Sherlock moved into the bedroom and waited for John before shutting the door. "Let's lie down," he said and climbed onto the bed. When John lay down as well, Sherlock turned towards him. He waited a few minutes, taking a few deep breaths, and then slid closer to John, curling a bit around him. He put one hand into John's hair and rested the other on John's chest.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly, tensing a bit under the sudden contact. Now that they were alone everything seemed like so _much_. "What . . . um . . .what are you doing?"

"I'm cuddling you," Sherlock said softly, "because I think you want me to." He swallowed and fussed a bit with John's hair. "And because I want to."

There was a knock at the door and Sherlock jolted back.

"Your dad's out of the shower if you want to get in," Emily called.

"All right," Sherlock said, sitting up on the bed. "Um . . . all right," he said again softly. He stood up and rushed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Sherlock -- " John started but he was gone, shutting the door before he could even properly sit up. He had been planning on going downstairs while Sherlock showered, but now he couldn't make himself move. He focused on breathing steadily and waited in the bedroom for Sherlock to come back.  

Sherlock got into the shower, looking straight into the flow of hot water. He felt embarrassed -- he didn't know what he was doing, really, and then his mother had to ruin everything. There was a part of him that just wished they had never come -- that they were just back at the flat and everything was normal.

But Sherlock had a feeling things were too different now -- that they weren't just going to be able to go home and pretend that this weekend had all been an act and that would be that. Because Sherlock didn't think it was an act for John anymore. And he knew it wasn't an act for him either.

For a moment, he wondered what Mycroft's game was -- why had he done this? But he couldn't get distracted by that at the moment. He needed to figure out how he was going to handle this once he got out of the shower. There wouldn't be time now for them to have a proper conversation about it. He wished he had just waited until they went to bed. If he was wrong about John's feelings, dinner was going to be horrible. His stomach hurt a little.

When he realised he'd been in the shower too long, he got out. He just got redressed into his clothes and then hurried downstairs. "Is John down here?" he asked his mum.

"No, I thought you two were lying down," she said.

"He must have fallen asleep while I was in the shower," Sherlock said, not looking up at her. "Would you mind going to wake him up? I need to make a phone call." He stood up straight away and headed out the back door. He walked down the path and around the corner a bit. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. What on earth was he doing? Obviously, he had feelings for John -- maybe he'd known it all along. But he was horrible at this --he had no idea how he was supposed to behave -- and now he'd proved it in the most embarrassing way. And rather than face it, he'd sent his mother to deal with it. Jesus, he thought to himself, you're absolutely useless.

Emily walked upstairs and tapped softly on Sherlock's bedroom door. "John? John, you awake? We'll need to leave in about an hour if you want to get yourself up and get ready." She headed back downstairs. 

John had been pacing back and forth, fearing that Sherlock had just gone on downstairs. He tried to convince himself that he wouldn't do that, but he had a bad feeling. And then Emily was calling him down and he knew. For a wild moment he almost told her that he didn't want to go anymore, that he wasn't feeling well. But they were so excited about it and it wasn't their fault. He had no idea what to do when he went downstairs -- he felt angry that Sherlock had just gone off after provoking something like that. And a bit hurt really, because he could have come back and they could have continued. He knew the tension was going to be visible, and he cursed Sherlock for doing this just before they went to dinner. He took a deep breath and headed down to the kitchen, sitting with Robert at the table. 

"I think Sherlock went outside, John," Emily said. "He said something about a phone call." 

"Okay," John nodded, but he didn't get up to find him. 

Sherlock finished his cigarette and considered lighting another. Instead he opened his phone and sent a text:

_I'm sorry. I meant what I said. I do want to. But I don't know how to do these things -- I don't know what I'm doing. These feelings are hard for me to handle. Can we be okay for the next few hours and then talk about it when we go to bed? I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry. SH_

That was the most honest he'd ever been with John about his feelings about anything. And he was doing it via text to John who was sitting in his parents' house, his parents who thought they were a couple and with whom they were about to go out to dinner. Yes, Sherlock was indeed very bad at these things. He cursed Mycroft and smoked one more cigarette before popping a piece of gum in his mouth and heading back inside to face whatever he was about to face. 

John read the message twice and had no idea what to say back. He wouldn't say no, obviously. That would make things bad for everyone. And the feelings -- Sherlock actually felt the same way? He was trying to ignore the sick feeling telling him that Sherlock was merely taking the game too far. He was just trying to process the whole text when Sherlock came back into the kitchen. John glanced up but looked away quickly, unable to look at him. He felt hot and angry again, but he took steady breaths to keep it from showing. "All right?" he asked, looking down at the table.  

"Yeah, um . . . that was just Molly, something about a case, nothing important," Sherlock said. "Are you okay?" This was too awkward -- he just wanted John to look at him and let him know that they could get through the next few hours, even if the conversation upstairs was going to end up being horribly awkward.

"Yeah," John said, finally looking up. "I fell asleep upstairs so I'm just a bit off," John said evenly. 

"Are you all right to go out, John?" Emily asked, coming to sit down with the rest of them. 

He looked over at her and swallowed the words still on the tip of his tongue. "Oh yeah," he smiled. "I just need to wake up a bit," he said. 

"It's like being a different world, really, being outside London," Sherlock said randomly. "Should we get going then?" he said, standing.

"Yes, I'm starved," John said, getting up as well. 

"Do you boys want to walk again? It's not very far from the house and it's still nice out," Emily said. 

"That'll be fine," Sherlock said. "Dad?"

"Sure," Robert said, "I can get a pint then." 

They headed out. Sherlock didn't know whether or not to hold John's hand so he didn't. He noticed John wasn't wearing his scarf. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

John glanced over and licked his lips. Sherlock had asked him to pretend that everything was fine. He sighed softly, stepped closer, and looped his arm through Sherlock's. 

Sherlock looked at John and tried to show him how appreciative he was.


	6. The Second Evening

The pub was lively but not overly crowded. They took a table in the corner and looked over their menus. "Are we having a roast tomorrow?" he asked his mother, even though he was pretty sure of the answer. "If so, I don't want to get beef tonight."

"Of course," Emily said.

"Good," he said, smiling at her. His parents weren't too bad really -- they liked John, they liked him with John. "What sounds good to you?" he asked John.

"Pizza, I think," John said. "It's been a little while and it looks like they have a little single pan," he pointed to the menu. 

"They make an excellent one here, thick crust and everything. It's a good choice," Robert said. 

"I'll just get fish and chips, I think," Sherlock said. "Mum?"

"Caesar salad," she said. "They've got a great bread pudding so I'll need to leave room."

"Drinks?" Robert asked.

"Just a lemonade," Emily said.

"John, what do you want to drink? I'll go up with Dad to order," Sherlock said.

"Um . . .just a pint, I think . Thanks." John said. He watched them go, staring after Sherlock. He had no idea what he was feeling anymore -- everything was a complete roller coaster. 

Sherlock and Robert went to the bar to order. Sherlock came back holding a glass of wine and a pint for John; Robert was carrying his pint and Emily's lemonade.

"Is something going on?" Emily asked once they had sat back down.

Sherlock said, "Everything's fine."  
  
Emily said, "Is it? It doesn't feel like it is."  
  
Sherlock took a drink of wine.

"I -- he was smoking again," John said. "You know, instead of being on the phone before. Nothing serious," he smiled, taking a drink. 

"I said I was sorry," Sherlock said quietly. "I am sorry, John. I . . . don't know what I was doing."

"You tricked me," John said, looking over at him. "But it's the last time, yeah?" 

"John, I have the same trouble with Robert," Emily said. 

John kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock and didn't respond. 

"What do you mean, last time. . . I -- I won't trick you again," Sherlock said. He looked over at John. Did he mean what happened in the bedroom -- was he saying that was the last time that could happen?

"Good," John said, looking down at his beer before taking another big gulp. The cuddling was just like the leg under the table. He was confused about it. No one could see it and they were so busy trying to trip each other up he didn't know what was a game anymore. And since his feelings were very real he found he was getting hurt easier in the confusion. And possibly hurting Sherlock. They needed to talk and suddenly he wished the quiz wasn't tonight so they could just get home.  

"Fine, that's sorted then," Robert said. "We need to stick together as a team now, boys. Don't forget."

"It's all right, we'll be okay," Sherlock said.

The waiter brought over their food and everyone started eating. "How's your pizza?" Sherlock asked. He still felt strange. He didn't want to, but he did. He thought about ordering another glass of wine. "Do you want another pint?" he asked John.

"Yeah, sure," John nodded. "I'll go up this time. Does anyone else want anything?"

"Some water, John? They should give you a pitcher if you ask for the table," Emily said. 

"Do you mind if I have another glass of wine?" Sherlock asked John. He reached for his wallet and handed John some cash.

"No," John shook his head. "I got it this time," he said leaving to go up to the bar. 

"Honey, go help him! He's going have two drinks and a pitcher," Emily said. 

Robert stood up and followed John.

"What have you done, Sherlock?" Emily asked.

"I'm not sure," Sherlock said. He couldn't look at her.

"You can see you haven't fixed it yet. It's not done, it's obvious. Try not to make it worse and fix it once you go upstairs, yes?" Emily said. She looked over at the bar and smiled. "He's good, he's good for you, fix it."

Sherlock didn't know what to say. Eventually he said quietly, "I'm not very good at this."

"I know," Emily said, reaching over and touching his hand. "But try."

"It's my fault he was smoking, John. Don't be too mad at him," Robert smiled softly. 

"Oh, no," John shook his head. "We just go through that so much, you know, trying to make him quit. It's all fine," he said. He paid for the drinks and started back. 

"He's new to this -- trying to be with someone, to live with someone else, you know? Be patient with him."

John wanted to explain that he was patient, but they were at the table now and he couldn't. "Here you go," he said, handing the wine to Sherlock.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, smiling. John was good and he was good to him and for him and, in that very second, Sherlock knew that he loved him. "I love you," he said aloud and then froze.

John met his gaze, mouth falling open and cheeks burning. How could he say that here, during this weekend when John would have to say it back? He took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. "It's just a glass of wine," he chuckled as if he heard that all the time and it was nothing new. His stomach was a swirling mess and he couldn't eat. He nibbled feebly, cursing himself for saying he was starving before. "Um . . . how does the quiz work? We play here, from our table?" he asked Robert. 

"We'll go to the other side of the pub, that way it won't disturb the people who are just here to eat. We come up with a team name and they'll give us a sheet. The quizmaster thinks he's quite funny -- well, he is pretty funny -- but we write the answers down and after twenty questions, he'll read the answers and then the team with the most correct answers wins," Robert said. 

Sherlock took a drink of wine and tried to make himself disappear.

"Oh, all right," John nodded. He glanced at Sherlock and wanted to talk to him desperately, but things were already so strained that even a secret conversation would make things worse. And when they got home . . . how were they going to talk freely without being heard? They spent the rest of dinner talking about the sort of questions that might come up, smiling hollowly as Robert told stories about past quizzes. 

Finally, Sherlock said, "It's quarter til. We should make a move." They carried their drinks into the other half of the pub and sat a table. Some people called to Robert; it was clear he had been a regular who hadn't been around for a while.

"I've brought my secret weapons tonight," Robert said, motioning to John and Sherlock. Sherlock smiled at the strangers.

The quizmaster came to the table and gave them a scorecard. Emily took charge of it. "What's our team name going to be? The usual?"

"That's fine," Sherlock said.

Emily wrote "The Speckled Band" at the top of the page. "You ready, John? Do you have a specialist subject? Medicine and military, I presume, anything else?" 

"Movie trivia," John smiled. "I'll leave the hard ones to Sherlock," he said. 

"I'm not allowed to answer until I've given everyone else time to answer," Sherlock said.

"It's not a punishment -- it just makes it more fun if everyone can have a go," Emily said.

"But if you know it, make sure to tell," Robert said.

"Robert . . ." Emily said, "we're here to have fun, don't forget." 

"I know, I know," Robert looked at John and winked. "Winning is the best kind of fun."

The quizmaster stood up and made a few bad jokes, which Robert laughed quite loudly at. He gave a five minute warning.

"Let's get another round so we're not distracted during the quiz," Robert said.

"I'm good with water," Emily said. "You can wait -- he takes a break after the tenth question, you can get another drink then if you need one."

"Fine," Robert said.

Finally, the quiz began. Robert got the first answer and his smile was so big, it made everyone else smile as well.

When the quiz started John was glad they had stayed because Robert was bursting with happiness. He was glad to have been allowed to come to this -- something he did with his sons. He looked over at Sherlock and hoped he was having a good time, at least for the moment. When the first ten questions were done, John declined another drink but asked where the bathroom was instead. 

"Sherlock will show you," Emily smiled.

John got up and waited for Sherlock to lead the way. 

Sherlock led John back to the bathroom. "Look," he said, "I'm going to step out and have a smoke. I know you don't like me smoking, but I can't stand this, John. Will you wait to go back to the table until I come back so she doesn't hassle me?"

John looked at him sadly, nodding and heading into the loo without saying anything. When he was finished he leaned against the sinks and waited for Sherlock to come back. He decided he would apologise when he saw him, because this was his fault, too. He's started the stupid game, and it had just got out of hand, it had become too real and he had to remember he wasn't the only one being affected. 

The fresh air felt good on Sherlock's face. He stood against the wall smoking, not joining in the chatter with other smokers gathered there. He wished he could just leave and go home, not back to the house, but to the flat where he could hide in his room. Like a child, he thought. But he couldn't help it -- that's what he wished could happen.

He went back in and entered the bathroom. He saw John. "Thanks for waiting," he said. He turned on a tap and splashed water on his face and then swirled a mouthful before spitting it into the sink. He took a towel and patted his face. "Ready?" he said to John.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John said quietly. "I'm sorry I started that competitive game, okay? Can we please just . . . call a truce now? I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said. "I've not been playing a game -- well, maybe the teasing a little, but what happened upstairs . . . it wasn't me playing a game. I don't know how to do this, John, but I meant what I said. I'm sorry if I got it wrong and you didn't want me to do that, but I did want to. I'm sorry if that's messed everything up . . . maybe it's just being here but I don't think it is. I'll try to go back to how we were before -- we can pretend none of this ever happened if that's what you want. I'll try."

"You weren't, Sherlock . . .I thought since the first time we did the dishes . . ." he trailed off, looking up at him. "I haven't been playing. I feel it for real, Sherlock. I was getting upset because I thought you were playing." He reached up and held Sherlock's face lightly. "I love you," he said quietly. "For real. I love you, Sherlock." 

Sherlock smiled but didn't know what exactly to do next. "This isn't the most romantic place to have this conversation," Sherlock said awkwardly. "I don't know what to do now . . . we should get back to the table, we don't want the quiz to start and my father get a question wrong -- he'd lose it." He reached over and touched John's arm, just because he couldn't think of what else to do.

"We can talk at home, okay? I'm glad we got that settled. I thought . . . God, I thought so many things were tricks, Sherlock," he said, leading the way out. 

"Look, they obviously believe we're together. We don't have to try to prove anything anymore," he said as they walked out.

"I know, Sherlock. It's between us, now," he said. He glanced back but was forced to drop it when they got back to the table. "We haven't missed anything, have we?" 

"Not yet," Robert said. 

"Thank god you're here," Emily said. "He was starting to sweat that you wouldn't be back in time."   
  
The quizmaster stood up and started joking again. Robert had another pint and laughed heartily at the terrible gags. By the end of the quiz, Robert's face was glowing and a bit pink. He was really enjoying himself; even Emily laughed at his excitement as they waited for the answers to be read out.

"We got them all right," Sherlock said.

"You never know until you hear the answers," Robert said.

"No," Sherlock laughed, "trust me, I do know."

And, of course, he was right. One other team also got 20/20 but they were wrong on the tiebreaker. Robert looked proud (and a little tipsy) when he stood up to collect their winnings. He came back to the table carrying a tray. "I got us all a shot -- to celebrate. A Bailey's for you, my dear," he said to Emily.

John smiled and took the glass. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said as they tapped their glasses together.

"Thanks for helping us win," Robert said.

Once their drinks were gone, Emily said, "Let's head home." They stood up, Emily holding onto Robert's arm as they headed out.

Sherlock left a few quid on the bar as they passed, knowing his father wasn't much of a tipper. "It's a nice night," he said as they stepped out of the pub.

"It is," John said, looping his arm into Sherlock's again as they walked. He smiled as he watched Sherlock's parents walking ahead of them. "The quiz was fun. That's a nice thing you all shared."

"Well, you're a better team member than Mycroft, that's for sure," Sherlock said.

"I wasn't much help," John said. "But when we see Mycroft just brag about how excellent I was," he smiled.

"Definitely," Sherlock said, smiling.

When they got back to the house, Robert said, "Should we have a nightcap?"

Emily pulled his arm, "No, I don't think so. Come on now, it's time for bed. Good night, boys. See you in the morning." They headed to their room.

"Shall we go up?" Sherlock asked. He felt a little nervous actually.

John nodded. "Come on," he said, taking Sherlock's hand and leading him upstairs. "We have a few things to talk about, yeah?"


	7. The Second Night

Sherlock followed John up. "I need the bathroom," he said, grabbing his pajamas. He undressed and washed his face again, noticing his cheeks were a bit flushed. He brushed his teeth, took a few deep breaths and went back into the bedroom. 

"I'm going to get ready for bed," John said, taking his pajamas and toothbrush. "Relax, okay?" He smiled and headed for the bathroom. When he came back he climbed into bed and turned on his side to face Sherlock, smiling softly.

Sherlock leaned over and turned off the light. He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"For what, exactly?" John asked, knowing they both were feeling bad about a lot of things. Things world be so much nicer when they were out and forgiven.

"For getting everything so wrong, for not realising how I felt until we were here, for doing what I did before dinner, for everything," Sherlock said. "There's a reason why I've never brought anyone here, John, because I've never had anyone to bring. Because I don't know how to do any of this."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't realise how I felt until we were here, I'm sorry I started the game, I'm sorry I treated everything you did as the game, and I'm sorry I even continued the game when I realised how I felt instead of talking to you." John scooted closer to Sherlock and pressed his forehead to his shoulder. "I forgive you for all of it." 

"We're a mess, John," Sherlock said. "Maybe we do belong together." He lay there silently.

"We just don't communicate well," John said quietly. "Imagine if I had just told you when you came back from the shop that I was starting to feel things for real?" He sighed and closed his eyes. "The flirting was fun."

Sherlock smiled. "It was," he said. "I suppose especially because they were around. It was like we were teenagers . . . except I never did things like that when I was a teenager." He was quiet again. "What are we going to do about all this, John?"

John stopped smiling now and bit his lip. "What would you like to do?" he asked quietly. "I thought -- I assumed since we both felt the same way we would . . . we would be together," he continued. 

"But John, you find me irritating quite a bit just as a flatmate, something that I ostensibly know how to be. Don't you think you'll find me even more lacking as a boyfriend, something I have never done and something I have no idea how to be?"

"Did you mean it -- when you said you loved me?" John asked quietly. 

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "Even I know that's not the kind of thing you say if you don't mean . . . did you mean it when you said it . . . or was that just the kind of talk you usually engage in in the men's toilets?"

"Of course I meant it," John said, pinching his arm. "I was asking because that's all that matters. You love me and I love you and everything else we'll just . . . figure out," he said. "If you want to. Or else we go back to . . . to normal."

"It'll be strange, though," Sherlock said, "your being the expert on something we do. Normally it's the other way around -- no offense." He turned on his side to face John. "I hope you'll be as gracious and patient as I've been when you're a bit slow on the uptake about something I know everything about." He smiled and brushed his fingers across John's cheek.

"I'm always patient," he smiled. "More than you, I think," he teased. 

"Agreed, I am notable for my impatience," Sherlock said. "That doesn't trouble you?"

John shook his head. "It hasn't yet," he smiled. "Seems it's only brought me closer." 

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Should we . . . cuddle then?"

"Yes please," John nodded, scooting even closer to him. 

Sherlock slid his arms around John and curled his legs. He stroked the back of John's head with one hand and his back with the other.

John took a deep breath, releasing it happily as he held Sherlock close. "This is very nice," he said. 

"It's good," Sherlock said, leaning a bit closer in. "Strange that we've lived in the same flat all this time but chose to do this here, in my childhood bed." He pressed his feet against John's.

John chuckled softly. "I didn't plan this, you know," he said. He put his hand flat on Sherlock's chest. 

"What do you mean? Because of last night? I figured it might be nicer if I was a more active party rather than just the victim of your sleep cuddling," Sherlock said.

"No, I mean -- I didn't plan any of this here," John said. 

Sherlock pulled back a little. "Your insistence that you did not plan this is now making me think you did have something to do with it. Did you and Mycroft cook up some scheme together?"

"No! I am just saying . . . anyways, did you figure out why he did this?" 

"I'm not sure," Sherlock said. "He said it was to take the pressure off him, but . . . he was odd on the phone . . . maybe it was just to make me uncomfortable but I'm not sure why he'd want to mess with you unless you've upset him . . . I don't know and you know Mycroft, he'd never come out and say." 

"Well, we'll have the last laugh. We can invite him over and snog furiously in front of him," John grinned. 

"I don't think I like the idea of that," Sherlock said. "I mean the in front of Mycroft part, not the snogging furiously bit." He smiled at John's face.

John grinned at him. "Okay. Maybe we don't have to do that. But one of his little cameras is bound to pick something up and we can laugh anyways," he said. 

"Stop talking about him. Let's kiss," Sherlock said, leaning closer to John.

"No need to shout," John smirked. "You just had to ask," he murmured and he leaned in, pressing his lips to Sherlock's. 

Sherlock dipped his chin slightly down and then up, pressing back into John's kiss. His hand that had been on John's back, slipped to grip his wrist instead. 

John parted his lips and flicked his tongue out, wanting more, scooting even closer to Sherlock as his hand moved to grip his waist.  

Sherlock opened his mouth to John and pressed his own tongue against his. He leaned a bit over, putting some of his weight onto John, pushing him onto his back. He slid his hand down to John's waist. His other hand gripped John's hair.

John hummed quietly, his other hand sliding into Sherlock's hair and curling slightly to hold on, to hold him close. 

Sherlock lifted his head and looked down into John's eyes. "This kissing is good," he said. "I've never kissed someone on this bed before. I'm glad the first one was you."

John smiled up at him. "I'm glad too. You know, you're my first kiss with a man. Never thought I'd have a first kiss again."

"Is this what you were thinking about in the shower, you pervert?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows up and down and smiling.

John flushed. "Yes . . . you were on top of me, kissing my lips and neck and . . .well, that's as far as I got." 

"Because you stopped . . . or because you didn't need anymore?" Sherlock asked, smirking a little. 

"Didn't need any more," John admitted. "You have quite an effect on me."

"Hmm . . . I'm on top of you, kissing your lips," he quickly dipped down and kissed John's mouth, "and now your neck as well." He moved down and kissed John's neck, sucking the skin into his mouth. "Am I having the same effect in life as I did in your imagination?"

John was already half hard from kissing Sherlock and now he was rigidly pressed into Sherlock's thigh. "Yes," he nodded gently. "Do you . . . feel it?" John asked, pressing up a bit harder. 

Sherlock nodded, looking into John's eyes. "Should we stop?"

"The place isn't . . . ideal," John admitted. He huffed and squirmed lightly. "We'll be heard." 

"Not if we don't make noise," Sherlock said. He leaned down and sucked on John's neck again. "Can't we just kiss a little bit more? Please."

John nodded. "Please . . .let's not stop that . . .not yet," he murmured, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair. 

Sherlock leaned down again, pressing against John's mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. He dragged his kiss across John's cheek and sucked on John's ear. He whispered, "You're so sexy" and then rolled his hips just slightly so John could feel that he, too, was hard.

"Fuck," John breathed, barely a whisper into Sherlock's neck. He kissed his neck to keep quiet. 

Sherlock shifted a bit so their cocks pressed together. There was only the thin fabric of their pajamas between them, and Sherlock so wanted to remove their clothes and lie naked with each other. But, just like he might have thought as a teenager had he actually ever done this, it was probably too risky, with his parents just a few doors down. So instead he just rocked his hips gently against John and lost his mouth in John's hair as his breath began to change.

"There . . .yes . . ." John moaned softly, almost a whimper in his attempt to keep it quiet. He bucked to meet Sherlock, to match his movements as he clutched at Sherlock's back. 

"John, you feel so good," Sherlock whispered, "I've not felt like this for . . ." He couldn't speak -- he worried that he could too easily starting moaning, start swearing, start calling John's name. It had been so long since he'd felt like this about another person; he couldn't even remember ever having felt so much longing. His entire body started to change, his muscles started to tense -- from his scalp all the way down to his feet. He moved his mouth against the pillow next to John's head and just let the smallest noise escape, letting the pillow silence it.

John turned his head and pressed hard kisses against Sherlock's temple, panting softly into his hair. "You make me . . . feel this good," he murmured. "I'm so close already -- clothes and all," he whispered. He swallowed hard to keep down his own moan. 

"Would it be okay to . . . I want to, I want to with you," Sherlock could barely make words. His hips moved of their own free will now, his hand gripped John's hair perhaps a little too tightly and he pressed his mouth back against John's neck, smelling and tasting him. His lips moved to voicelessly say John's name and then all of a sudden he was coming against John, and it took every ounce of focus within him to keep from calling out in release.

"Jesus," John whispered harshly, the sound a result of stifling the shout that was so very close. "Oh, Sherlock," he mumbled, bucking up hard and coming himself, surrendering into Sherlock, welcoming an orgasm that had been building since they arrived. Or so it felt like anyways. He pressed his mouth against Sherlock's shoulder to keep quiet. When it was over, his head fell back against the pillow, his hands relaxing against Sherlock's back.

Sherlock was panting as softly as he could. His head rested on the pillow. He turned it slightly and moved his hand from behind John's head down his arm to hold his hand. "God," he said softly. "It feels like that's been waiting to happen since the first time I laid eyes on you."

John smiled. "You read my mind, Sherlock." He laced their fingers and held his hand tightly. "I love you," he murmured. 

"I love you, too, John," Sherlock said, rolling back to his side of the bed. "Even though you made me . . . messy." He reached over and opened the bedside drawer, but it was full of papers, nothing useful for cleaning himself up. He slipped out of bed and reached for the shirt he had been wearing earlier. "We'll have to use this," he said, throwing it to John first.

"A shower in the morning and we'll be fine," John said.

Sherlock got back into bed. "I'm properly exhausted now," Sherlock said quietly. He took a few deep breaths. "Do you think my parents will know when they see us in the morning, do you think we'll seem different?" he asked.

"I don't think they'll know," John whispered. "As far as they know this goes on all the time," he smiled. "We just have to . . . act natural. It'll be okay." 

"That's true -- they probably thought we were at it last night, especially since you looked so wrecked this morning," Sherlock said, grinning at him.

"I didn't look wrecked! And anyways, you were the one pulling me upstairs for 'a nap' in the middle of the day," John countered. 

"Well, at least they know we have a healthy sex life," Sherlock said, giggling quietly. He curled around John again and rested his hand on John's chest. "I'm glad this all has happened, John."

"Me too, Sherlock. It's strange -- we are always together. Always. I don't know why it took coming here for me to see it." His hand curled around Sherlock and rubbed his side gently. 

"Maybe it was just seeing ourselves from someone else's perspective . . . I don't know, I suppose it doesn't really matter. I'm just glad," he squeezed John into a hug and then let his muscles go slack as sleep started to come for him.

"That's true," he murmured, closing his eyes. "They were convinced that . . ." He trailed off as he noticed Sherlock's breathing was heavier, steadier. He smiled softly and stopped talking, resting his head on Sherlock's and sighing softly, waiting to drift off himself. It was warm and comfortable, and it didn't take very long at all. 


	8. The Last Morning

When Sherlock woke up, their positions had changed but John was still cuddled against him. He thought about waking up like that yesterday and thought about what had happened in this bed last night and how that made such a difference to how he felt about waking up this way this morning. He looked over at John's sleeping face -- his hair mussed, a slight pink flush to his cheeks. He was so handsome and Sherlock loved him. He reached over and stroked John's hair softly.

John took in a deep breath and shifted, not waking up just yet. He'd been dreaming something, but now it was slipping away. He couldn't remember, couldn't catch it to finish. He released his breath in a long sigh, finally blinking his eyes open. The first thing he registered was the fingers in his hair and he smiled, properly opening his eyes to find Sherlock. "Hello," he mumbled, closing his eyes again.

Sherlock leaned over and whispered in John's ear, "Do you remember? This morning is not like yesterday morning. Do you remember why?"

John nodded, leaning his head against Sherlock, against that lovely voice. "I'll never forget it," he murmured. "Not our first time."

"I wish we could 'cuddle' like that again," Sherlock said, moving John's hand between his legs to touch his erection. "I woke up like that -- I think I was having a sexy dream about you." Then he pulled John's hand away and said, "But I've already heard them moving about so we'd better not. But I wanted you to know that I hold you responsible for that."

John sighed softly. "If we were at home I'd slip under the covers and take care of that," he murmured, looking up at Sherlock. 

Sherlock felt his face flush. "John, that's not helping at the moment . . . I'm trying to make it go away," he squeezed closed his eyes as if he was really concentrating. Then he opened one eye and looked over at John, "With your hand or mouth?" Then he closed his eye again.

"Hmm . . . I'd start with my hand, properly build you up. Then I'd wrap my lips around the head and just . . . suck you right in," he murmured. "I'd swirl my tongue to make you all . . .wet so I can move easier. Of course, I could lather on the precome you're sure to drip onto my tongue . . ."

"John Watson!" Sherlock said and then rolled on to his side. "Seriously, you need to stop that." He smiled at John and petted his face for a moment. "Have you done that before or were you just describing what you like done to you?"

"I've done it before, when I was in the army," John admitted. "It was very . . . impersonal. No words, no eye contact." He shrugged and looked up to Sherlock's eyes. "I want to try it with someone I love, someone I actually want in my mouth," he smiled. 

"Hmm . . . that surprises me a little. I don't like thinking about that, is that okay? I don't think it's purely jealousy -- it is a little -- but it doesn't sound very nice. I only want nice things with us, okay?" Sherlock said, his eyes were soft as they looked at John's face.

John nodded. "It would be so nice with you," he sighed. "Want me to tell you what else I would put my mouth on?" he asked quietly. 

Sherlock glanced over at the clock. "Yes . . . but only for three minutes. And then we have to stop and I'll have to make it go away for real. We need to get up soon."

"I'd start at your neck and kiss my way down to your nipples," John started quietly, grazing a finger over one through his shirt. "And then all the way down your belly, and your inner thighs, and your balls, and your cock." 

"Oh god, John, you're cruel, you know that?" Sherlock whispered, turning and pressing his hips against John's. "It's too difficult. You're going to have to stop talking. We'll be home tonight -- will you do that to me then? Please?" He knew his voice sounded desperate, but he didn't care because that's how he felt.

John nodded. "Of course, love." He looked so helplessly turned on that John almost continued anyways, but he had his own erection to ignore and the last thing they needed was to be heard. "Go on to the shower first so I can go after you," he said. 

"Are you going to have a wank in there -- again?" Sherlock said, smiling. "I swear that shower is seeing more action than it did the entire time I lived here." He gave his body a little shake and took some deep breaths to try to calm himself down before he got up.

"You could wank in there, too, if you wanted to," John grinned. "You could run the water and we could talk on the phone," he said quietly. "And then you can quickly wash up."

"Jesus, John, you are way more of a pervert than I realised!" Sherlock said, quickly hushing himself. "I am beginning to worry about what's gone on in that flat during your various relationships -- but I do not want to know any details."

"I can't help it with you . . . you're just . . .so sexy," he smiled up at him. 

"Shut up," Sherlock said, finally standing up a bit. "I am many things -- I am tall, I am clever, and I am gasping for a cup of tea. But I don't think sexy belongs on that list." He stretched and moved over to the wardrobe to get some clean clothes. "I'm off to the shower, pervert."

"You're so sexy, Sherlock. Your sexy, sleep-tousled hair, your sexy bulge there. I can hardly stand it," he sighed, writhing on the bed dramatically. He was grinning, so happy he could finally voice these things. 

Sherlock opened the door and said, "Good morning, Mother. Yes, that was John trying to seduce me back to bed. Sure, go on in." Then he peeked his head around the door. "I'm teasing, but stop being so naughty." He pulled the door shut and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped in. He washed his hair and let the hot water fall onto his face and then he turned and let it hit his shoulders. He soaped his belly, cleaning off the mess from last night. Brushing his fingertips against his cock, he realised he was still aching and within a few minutes, he was as hard as he'd been in bed and he quickly gave himself a few strokes, imagining the things John described, and moments later he was coming into his hand. It felt good, but then he worried a little that when he and John were properly together, he wouldn't be able to last very long. He turned and let the hot water rinse him. Then he got out, dried off and dressed. He brushed his teeth and fiddled for a moment with his hair before going back into the bedroom.

John got up to find some new clothes, cleaning up a bit as he waited. When Sherlock finally came back John grinned. "Had a good shower?" he asked, backing up to the door. 

"Yes, I did it -- if that's what you're asking," Sherlock said, smiling. "However, I was thinking, you probably shouldn't. I mean, since you did yesterday -- we should be even. So you'll need to refrain, I'm afraid."

"Refrain?" John pouted slightly. "Now that you've left me like this?" He gestured down to the obvious bulge in his pajamas. 

"You were supposed to be thinking of something else to make that go away," Sherlock said. "Fine!" he said, throwing his hands up. "I'm just kidding anyway. Like I said yesterday, what you do in the shower isn't really my business. Do you want me to wait for you up here?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," John grinned. "And I think you should go down because they have probably heard us by now and are probably wondering why they haven't seen anyone yet." He hurried off to the bathroom and started the shower, washing off the dried mess on his belly. Then he kept thinking about Sherlock saying they wouldn't be even and he felt guilty, making it difficult to wank. He sighed and turned the water a bit cold, standing beneath it until his erection was gone. He got out and dressed, taking his things back to his room before heading downstairs. 

Sherlock headed downstairs. His parents were in the kitchen. "Good morning," he said, moving over to pour himself a cup of tea. "John's just in the shower, he'll be down soon."

John came down five minutes later, having packed away most of their things first. "Morning," he said as he came into the kitchen, moving right to the kettle for tea. 

"Now, I was thinking we could make breakfast again tomorrow morning before you left," Emily said, peeking up from the paper. 

"We're going home tonight after dinner," Sherlock said.

"Mycroft said you could stay until Monday morning," Emily said.

"Mycroft is not my keeper, Mother," Sherlock said. "And he certainly doesn't speak for John. I'm sorry, but we'll need to head back to London tonight. If Mycroft refuses to send a car, we'll . . . sort it without him."

"I might have to work in the morning," John said, even though he knew he didn't. He didn't want her to think it was because of them.

"That's fine," Emily said. "We really have enjoyed your visit. We hope you'll come back."  
  
"What time's dinner?" Sherlock asked.

Emily dropped her newspaper and glanced at the clock. "Three thirty for four. I've got shrimp cocktail for a starter. A little treat. I've started the bread already and everything else will need about two hours. What do you boys want to do until then?"

John looked over at Sherlock. "Want to go for a walk? You can show me some other places you visited when you were growing up?"

"Show him the park we used to go to for the stars," Robert said. "I barely got Sherlock interested and Mycroft positively hated it. But it was nice anyways."

"All right then," Sherlock said. For some reason, he leaned over and kissed his mother, saying, "John and I will peel the potatoes when we get back if you want."  
  
Emily smiled at Sherlock and then at John.

He went to retrieve their coats. He handed John his and then put his own on. "Have you still got my scarf?" he asked John.

John nodded and pulled the scarf from his pocket, holding it out to Sherlock.

Sherlock put it around his neck. As he and John headed down the path, he got out his phone and sent a text.

_Send car tonight at eight, please. SH_

_In a hurry to get your man home? MH_

_Just send car and stop talking, please. SH_

"You okay if we get back to London late? I don't want to rush right off after dinner," Sherlock asked John. "I've asked for the car to come at eight -- is that all right?"

"That's actually earlier than I expected," John said. "I'm fine with that. I don't want to run out either."

"After last night, my dad'll probably need to go to bed early so it seemed like an okay time to end the visit," Sherlock said. "I feel like my mother was looking at me funny. Do I look odd?" He turned and looked over at John. "Perhaps it's because I've had two orgasms in less than twelve hours. I confess that's basically doubled my orgasm count in the last few months. Do I look like I've been drained of all my energy? Are you trying to tap my life force, John Watson?" He pulled a face at John.

"You caught me," he laughed. "You don't look any different . . . not to me, anyways. And you'll be happy to know I didn't do anything but wash up in the shower."

"Interesting," Sherlock said, smiling at him. "But it seems like you must have a wank everyday. Your body's used to it -- mine isn't. I hope I don't end up hospitalised." He laughed a little.

"I don't wank everyday," John said with mock offense. "But if you keep leaving me like that every morning I might have to start."

"You were the one responsible for all that this morning with your sex talk," Sherlock said. "Hmm . . . is that all I am to you now, a sex object? You can use me instead of wanking in the shower before work? That's hurtful, John." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

"Oh please. You were the one rubbing it on my leg! Like some kind of animal," he laughed.

"Well, what did you want me to do? I was worried -- I don't have sex dreams and I don't wake up with erections -- I was asking you for medical help, John, as a doctor, and you just took advantage. You're the animal," Sherlock said.

"Yeah right," John laughed. "Perhaps I'll just keep hands to myself then and just observe," he said.

"Well, you'll be waiting quite a while then. Unlike some people in this conversation, I don't wank all the time. I'll call you into my room the next time I do, all right? You can take notes if you'd want."

"I hope you know that also means my mouth and all the lovely things I said I'd do with it," John said.

"Stop it, John," Sherlock said, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer. "Your teasing is mean. No more sexy talk out of that mouth until we get back to the flat and then you can show me all you have to offer."

"Sorry, as a professional doctor I am not allowed," John grinned. He wiggled his fingers in a mock attempt to pull away. "This isn't allowed!"

"Fine, I'm firing you as my doctor. You can be my sex educator -- you seem to have quite a few tricks up your sleeves, why don't you promise to show me some?" Sherlock said pulling him back closer.

"Now you're paying me for sexual favours?" John laughed, finally giving in and pecking his cheek. "I'll show you whatever you want," he murmured.

"You know I'm not entirely without experience, John," Sherlock said. "Perhaps I'll have some tricks you are unaware of." He led them off the main path into a small woods which led to old park where they used to look at the stars.

"I'm looking forward to it," he smiled. "So, is this the spot, then?"

"Yeah, this is it," Sherlock walked to a grassy patch and sat down. "He bought a telescope, but neither one of us was really keen. So mainly he'd use it, but he made us lie down flat and just stare up at the sky while he narrated what he saw. At the time, I suppose it was frustrating. I wasn't really interested in what was out there, and you know how Mycroft is . . . well, add that to the fact he was also a teenager . . . but I kind of feel bad for my father now. I wish we had shown more interest -- or at least pretended to."

"If you start thinking like that you'll be sad," John said, sitting down beside him. "Teenagers are the same everywhere. He's happy, your dad. Just look at him when he tells stories about you two," John smiled.

"I suppose so," Sherlock, lying down flat and looking up at the sky. "I guess I just feel a little more patient with them this visit, you know, because they kind of helped with this." He reached over and held John's hand.

John smiled and laced their fingers. "It feels like it's happened so quickly, but I know how long it's been building. I just had no idea until now, when I was forced to see."

"Well, I am an attractive man -- it's amazing you held out as long as you did," Sherlock said, smiling at him. "Do you think you might just be too stubborn? It's not like people haven't pointed it out to you before -- do you think you were just denying it just to spite them?" He looked up into the sky again. "You can be honest, I'm not judging you."

"I don't know, Sherlock. I just . . . I know you're attractive. I always knew that. And I've always loved you, of course, as my best friend and then he came here and the physical just . . .took over."

"Maybe you're just horny," Sherlock said. "I'm here and as you say, I'm gorgeous, and we were playing a role . . . we had an excuse to be a bit touchy-feely. Maybe you just got horny and I'm better than nothing . . ."

"No," John said firmly. "I hope you're not being serious. I would never hurt either of us like that," he said. "I love you, Sherlock. I do."

"I don't mean it in a bad way . . . there's nothing wrong with a friendship like that, as long as both parties are okay with it. Maybe once we're back in London and you're out with the ladies you'll realise this was more of a fluke. As you said, you already loved me as a friend, maybe it's just your raging libido that's making it think it's something more here, away from our normal lives." Sherlock's face was still facing the sky, but he closed his eyes to the sunshine.

John leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I have faith that you can keep up with my raging libido," he smiled softly. He wished he'd used better words now, and he was worried that Sherlock really thought John would leave him.

Sherlock smiled at John's kiss. "I suppose I'm just trying to say that . . . we can't not share things now. I mean, if one of us were to change our minds, we're not in the position to ignore it for months or wait until the next time we come to my parents' to be honest. I don't think I'll change my mind and I hope you don't either, but just in case . . ."

"I know that, Sherlock. This was just . . . the first time. It's different now." He stayed bent over, murmuring against his skin before laying down beside him and looking up.

"Good then," Sherlock said, reaching for John's hand again. He lay there silently for a while. Then, without turning his head, he said, "Do you think Mycroft has known all along?"

"Yeah. I suspected it the first time you spoke to him on the phone, when we were chatting in the living room instead of looking at pictures. I think he did this to you on purpose, either to torture you or make you admit it."

"Do you think he knows about you as well?"

"Maybe. That one I'm not sure about. Everyone else seemed to," he smiled.

"I didn't, I don't think," Sherlock said. "And I'm quite clever. Usually."

"But you did when I started actually acting like it . . . showing signs, you know? So you're still clever," he grinned.

"John, I have to confess something . . . I didn't know. I think I was just hoping. I'm glad I was right," he turned his head to look at John and smiled, before leaning up and giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Oh. I knew but was afraid to believe it," John said. He turned his head to look at Sherlock and smiled. "I couldn't tell what was real and what was just teasing."

"But when we were alone in the room, yesterday afternoon, why would I be teasing then when they weren't around? I was trying to make my move on you but then my mother messed it all up. I felt like an awkward teenager," Sherlock said.

"Because the game would be between us, wouldn't it?" John said. "I don't know. I felt so hurt when you left . . .really when you just never came back," he said quietly. "And then you told me you loved me in front of them and I felt like it was a trap and I couldn't bring myself to say it if you were kidding."

"Well, I just got freaked out . . . worried that I was wrong. But I'd never say that for a joke," Sherlock said. "I don't know, John, we're really going to have to do better at communicating. This is what I'm worried about . . . I'm not good at this at all."

"It'll be different now, Sherlock. There's no possibility of something being a trick or a joke or an act. I mean, unless something obvious like I'm keeping my hands to myself," John smiled softly. "It'll be okay."

"I'm sorry I'm so anxious," Sherlock said, sitting up. "We can stop talking about it. Let's just act normal and if something comes up, we'll just deal with it." He looked over at John and smiled. "We should head back."

"Okay," John agreed. He sat up, looked around the clearing once more and then stood up. He held his hand out to Sherlock to help him up. "When you go back, you should share a story with your dad -- just a little something you remember from when you all used to come out. I think he'll like that," John smiled. 

Sherlock smiled, "All right then, thanks." He reached for John's hand and they walked back to the house.

In the kitchen, Emily had started peeling the potatoes. Sherlock said, "Let John and me do that. We don't mind, do we, John?" He walked over to the sink and washed his hands. "We'd like to, Mum, really."

"Of course not," John said, waiting his turn to wash his hands. "We can do that for you."

"All right then, thanks," Emily said, "John, I don't know what you've done to him, but this may be the first time Sherlock has ever offered to help me with a Sunday dinner." She winked at John and then pulled a face at Sherlock.

"Whatever it is I hope it continues when we get home," he grinned, nudging Sherlock playfully. He made a small pile of potatoes in front of him and started to peel them, humming softly to himself. 

"I thought Sherlock said he does all the housekeeping at home?" Robert asked.

Sherlock and John looked at each other.

John recovered and shook his head. "We share. I just like teasing," he said, smiling over at Sherlock. 

Sherlock smiled at John to thank him.

"Everything . . . okay today, Sherlock?" Emily asked, knowingly.  
  
"It's fine," Sherlock said, looking at her and nodding.

"Good," she said. "Check the roast, would you, Robert? Does it look all right? Did you enjoy our walk, boys?"

"Yeah," John nodded. "That spot is very nice, Robert. A nice clearing."  

"John and I laid down and looked up at the sky, just like you used to have us do. Even though it's daylight, I showed him the constellations I could remember," Sherlock said to his father. He smiled at John again.

"I'm glad you remembered something from all those nights out there," Robert said. "Roast is looking good, dear. Smells delicious. Maybe I should choose some music to play during dinner? And then I might go get dressed." He wandered off into the other room.

Emily beamed at Sherlock and started taking the potatoes they had peeled already to cut and add to the roast. John grinned at Sherlock and started to clean up the peels all over the table.

"We've already showered, but why don't we go get dressed as well? We can also pack up so we can just enjoy the rest of the day," Sherlock said. "Does anything else need doing in here?"  
  
Emily shook her head. "It's all sorted now. Just about an hour until shrimp cocktail," she smiled.

"All right then, if you need anything, just let us know," Sherlock said, turning to head up to his room.

John followed him upstairs. "So . . . is Mycroft coming to the dinner or not? No one had said for sure."

"I hope not," Sherlock said. He looked at his phone. "He never confirmed the car." He dialed Mycroft's number.

"Sherlock," Mycroft answered.

"Will the car be here at eight?" Sherlock asked.

"It's on its way now."  
  
"It's too early. Dinner's at four, you know that," Sherlock said.

"I'm in the car, Sherlock. Please have a drink ready for me when I arrive," Mycroft said and hung up.

"God," Sherlock said to John. "He's coming."

John grinned. "Can we mess with him? Please, Sherlock?" He put his hands together like a child begging for sweets before dinner. 

"I kind of feel sick, John," Sherlock said. "If you think he's bad in London . . . he's a million times worse here. I wish we could leave . . ." He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. "He always wins, John. What can we do?"

John sobered up and sat down beside him. "Hey," he said softly. "He's not going to this time. We can make him regret ever starting this," he smiled, nudging Sherlock's with his shoulder. 

"All right. How?" Sherlock said, looking up at John. "What should we do? Are we going to pretend this hasn't happened?"

"No! Just the opposite, actually. Think about it. Even if he wanted you to admit your feelings, he probably didn't think I would return them. He'll be very stunned when we're being all . . . cute," he smiled. "On top of that, when we get him alone we'll make him really uncomfortable with our sexy talk," he grinned. "Imagine his face!"

Sherlock smiled. "We'll probably have to ride home with him -- oh my god, he'd hate that." He turned to John. "All right, but let's not say anything that will confuse either of us. I don't want to mess with that, okay?"

"No, no. It'll be things you already know like...'I can't wait to get you home' or...you can mention how the bathtub is much more spacious than you remember," he grinned. 

"Not in front of my parents, though," Sherlock said, his cheeks reddening. "I want to make him uncomfortable but not them."

"Of course not," John shook his head. "No. Only Mycroft."

"All right," Sherlock said. He pushed John flat onto the bed. "Take your clothes off now, please."

John gazed up at him. "We're expected down for cocktails, naughty," he smiled. 

"Yes, I know, but we've got to get changed first so strip off, please," Sherlock said, grinning stupidly and sitting up on the bed as if he were ready to watch a performance.

"What do you want?  A show?" John grinned. He stood up and started to removed his clothes slowly, watching Sherlock as he did. First his shirt, then his trousers so he was left in an undershirt and pants. Then he peeled his undershirt off, throwing it at Sherlock with a grin. When he moved it, John hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and teased taking them off. "Sorry, these gotta stay," he shrugged, snapping the elastic lightly. 

"It worries me slightly the ease with which you immediately launched into a striptease," Sherlock said. "Is that how you earned money during medical school -- working at the Spearmint Rhino?"  
  
John grinned and shrugged again. "You'll never know!"

"Put your pretty suit on now, please," Sherlock said.

"Don't I get a show?" he pouted playfully, stepping into the trousers and reaching for his shirt. He slid it on and buttoned the buttons slowly, still looking at Sherlock.

"No, I'm afraid not," he stood up. "I'll change in here, but I'm afraid my disrobing will have much less flair than yours did." He walked over to John and undid the buttons he had just done up. He pulled open John's shirt and leaned down, kissing his collarbone first and then sucking on one of his nipples. Then he stood back up and moved over to the wardrobe to get out his suit. "Go back about your business, John," he said, smiling.

"You're such a tease," John sighed, buttoning up his shirt again before putting on his tie and waistcoat. He slipped on the jacket and buttoned it up, looking over at Sherlock. "Well?"

Sherlock smiled. "Very pretty," he said. He finished changing and stood next to John, looking at them both in the full length mirror. "Yes, quite a nice pair, I'd say."

John nodded. "You look very handsome," he smiled. 

They headed downstairs where they noticed some music now playing. "Good choice," Sherlock said to his father, smiling. "You look sharp."  
  
"As do you," Robert said. "You too, John."

"Well, I'd better go get dressed as everyone else is putting me to shame," Emily said. "Mikey will be here soon, you know."

John nodded. "He told us. That'll be nice," he added, throwing a smile to Sherlock. 

"Yes, today may be the greatest day of my life," Sherlock said, sarcastically.

"Just be nice, Sherlock," Emily said, standing. She headed upstairs.

"What's your drink, John?" Robert said, carrying in a tray with some glasses and bottles.

"Whiskey, please," John said, moving closer to look at his collection. 

"All right then," Robert said, passing him a glass. "Here's Sherlock's -- you next."

"Mycroft will be here in five minutes," Sherlock said. "Did you feel that -- the village's temperature just dropped by ten degrees, which means that Mycroft has arrived." He took the glass from John. "Thanks."

John grinned and shook his head. "Now, now. Let's be nice to your brother," he said with a knowing tone, winking at Sherlock. 

"John's right. Don't make your mother angry today," Robert said, looking around for her as he said it. 

"I'll be good," Sherlock said, taking a drink.

Emily reappeared. Robert turned. "Who's this beautiful woman?" he said and walked over and kissed her.

She swatted him away, "Don't fuss. Is he here yet?"  
  
"Any minute now," Sherlock said. "I wonder if he's bringing a date." He looked over at John.

"What? Really? Is he dating someone?" Emily said excitedly.

"Don't know," Sherlock said. "We'll find out."

John made his way closer to Sherlock as his parents went into the kitchen. "Wouldn't it be fun if he said he was dating Anthea? Oh! Or Greg! Imagine him convincing Greg to pretend to be his boyfriend," John chuckled. 

"Who are Anthea and Greg?" Sherlock said. "He'd never pretend. But that doesn't mean my mother's attention can't be focused on his bloody love life."

"His kidnapping assistant and Lestrade, you goof. You really ought to remember his name," John smiled. "Anyways, maybe now that you've settled down, she'll get on his case twice as hard."

"Oh right," Sherlock said. "Are you planning to look extra cute all night?" He smiled and set his hand on John's leg. "Because it's already driving me a bit mad."

John grinned. "I am only going to get even cuter," he said seriously. "It's a condition I have to live with every day." 

"You should see a doctor about that," Sherlock said. Then he looked up sharply. "He's here," he said, standing.


	9. The Last Afternoon

John stood up next to Sherlock and sipped at his drink. He heard Emily answer the door, gushing over him and inviting him inside. She disappeared back into the kitchen and he joined them, smirking at both of them. "Had a nice stay?" he asked, pouring himself a drink. 

"Fantastic," John said. "Your parents are wonderful hosts."

"Where's your date?" Sherlock asked, sitting back down.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Don't have one. And I am not going through these lengths," he said, motioning between the two of them. 

John raised his brows lightly. "Don't know what you mean by 'these lengths' because frankly, it's about time we started telling people."

Mycroft looked to Sherlock. "What?"

"We hadn't wanted to embarrass you with your colleagues -- we know how important the little myth you've created about the Holmes men being ice cold, intellectual giants is to you. We were keeping it quiet on your account. But since you decided to tell them, we figured you're mellowing in your old age. In fact, the four of us sat around last night coming up with a list of potential mates for you," Sherlock said, smiling.

John had to bite back a laugh as he watched Mycroft's face pale slightly. While his little prank turned out to be the best thing for them, it had caused both of them some amount of grief and the payback was lovely. 

"You're . . . you're lying," Mycroft said. "Obviously lying." John waited for more -- for his reasons why he thought so and was even happier when none followed. 

"Of course, I'm lying," Sherlock said, taking a sip of his drink. "About the conversation. But not about me and John." He set his hand on John's thigh, not taking his eyes off his brother.

"No. John's not even gay. That's why it's so funny," Mycroft said smugly. 

John raised his brows. "Hmm . . . we did some pretty gay things last nigh t-- " He was forced to cut off as Robert joined them with another drink. He was glad to see Mycroft's stunned face again.

"Mike, I took the boys to the pub the other night, won the game like always. Wish you could have been there," Robert said.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and didn't answer, taking a long drink from his glass.  

"Yes, some of the lads were asking after you," Sherlock said. "Wondering how you were. If you were as handsome as ever."

"Shut up," Mycroft snapped.

"Now, boys, come on," Robert said. Emily came from the kitchen and Robert got up to help her, dropping his drink down.

"So you suddenly like men?" Mycroft asked John.

"Oh no. Just your brother. Can't help myself -- hell, I can hardly keep my hands off him. But we'll be at home tonight and I won't have to," John smiled up at Sherlock.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and got up, heading for the kitchen. He looked like he couldn't decide which company would be worse.

Sherlock looked over at John. "That was the most fun I've ever had in his presence," Sherlock said, smiling. He started to stand but Emily came in carrying a tray with shrimp. "Need help carrying anything?" he asked.

"No, your father is getting the second tray for me. Just relax. Try and get some gossip from your brother. What's he up to these days?" She sighed and went back to the kitchen as Robert and Mycroft came back in.

John wondered if he'd realized already they wouldn't say anything strange in front of his father. "Sherlock showed me your star gazing spot," he mentioned.

"Christ. Do you still go?"

"No, son. I shared that with you boys," Robert smiled.

"We could walk out after dinner if you'd like," Sherlock said.

Mycroft said, "No thank you. I've not brought the right shoes, I'm afraid."

"Shame," Sherlock said. "Well, we're pretty much all talked out -- perhaps you'd like to tell us what's new with you. How's work? Seeing anyone special?"

"No, I'm not," Mycroft said irritably. He didn't elaborate, taking another drink.

"That's a shame. Another couple would be nice to spend time with," John said, smiling nicely.

"Don't worry, son. The right person is out there somewhere. You'll find them," Robert said.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the lot of them.

"Perhaps John and I could find someone for you, brother," Sherlock said. "It must get lonely."

Emily fussed Mycroft's hair.

Mycroft moved away from her touch and glared at Sherlock. "I assure you I am just fine!"

"Sherlock's right, you know, about the loneliness," she said.

"I did not come here to be harassed and I will leave if I have to!"

"Mycroft, that's no way to speak to your mother," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry you had to see that, John."

John nodded. "Really, Mycroft. That's your mum," he smiled.

"Let's not argue," Emily said. "Have a prawn."

Robert leaned in and grabbed a plate, loading it up.

"I'm on a diet," Mycroft said.

"Of course you are," Sherlock said, picking one up and popping it in his mouth even though he wasn't particularly keen. "Delicious, Mother," he added. "What a good idea." 

"I agree. I can't wait to try the roast," John said, finishing off his drink. Robert got up and refilled his glass for him.

"I hope you're not planning on eating nothing but carrots and celery after Mother's worked so hard on this meal," Sherlock said to Mycroft. His father brought him over another drink, so he swapped it for his old one.

"No, I'll partake in all the usual Sunday dinner traditions -- except for the sharing obviously," he said, swirling the liquid in his glass.

"Oh, don't be like that," John grinned. "We want to hear from you, too, Mycroft. All the good things in your life."

Mycroft crossed and recrossed his legs. "Well, Dr Watson, you seem to have assimilated quite easily into the Holmes family -- picking on Mycroft seems to have come quite naturally to you."

John met Mycroft's eyes and shrugged lightly. "Oh, come on. That's what we do," he said. "You kidnap me on my way home and warn me to be nice to Sherlock, I tease you about finding a girlfriend," he grinned. 

"Oh, what a good big brother," Emily smiled. "Except for the kidnapping, Mikey, is that necessary?"

"It wasn't a kidnapping per se," Mycroft said. "It was an arranged meeting. I'm good at arranged meetings, wouldn't you say, Sherlock? It seems my latest one has in fact changed your life rather significantly. Wasn't that clever of me?"  
  
Sherlock glared. He hadn't been convinced Mycroft had arranged this weekend for Sherlock's own benefit, and he certainly didn't want him taking the credit for having done so.

John wanted Mycroft to believe they were together the whole time so he wouldn't think this was all him. "Well, like we said, Mycroft. It was about time we started telling everyone about it. It was hard keeping it secret for so long," John said. 

"And what was the reason, exactly?" Robert asked. 

"Oh, you know. Didn't want it getting in the way of Sherlock's work and we just wanted to make sure it was going to work before he started shouting about it," John said. 

"Oh, yes, that makes sense," Robert nodded, taking a sip of his drink. 

"Now, of course, I can start shouting about it, if I were to choose to do so," Sherlock said, still looking at Mycroft.

"And do you plan to choose to shout?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock took a drink. "I've yet to decide actually." He reached over and touched John's hand.

John smiled at the touch, busying himself with finishing his drink. He watched Mycroft looking at their hands, eyes narrowed slightly. Did he believe them or did he still suspect they were faking? He couldn't say anything to find out with their parents in the room. 

A timer went off in the kitchen and Emily jumped. She stood up and said, "Go on and make your way in. Robert, could you help me carry things?" She and Robert headed into the kitchen and the other stood up to move.

"I'm going to see if she needs help," John said, leaning up to peck a kiss on his lips. "Save me a seat," he smiled, moving into the kitchen. 

"He knows they're not in the room, right?" Mycroft asked, eyebrows raised slightly. 

"You really don't get it, do you, Mycroft?" Sherlock said, moving into the dining room. "You just can't handle not being in charge of everyone's actions and feelings. You've got nothing to do with this -- you're not needed here."

"Please! This is all an act for our parents! You're overdoing it to try to upset to me," he scoffed. 

"If that makes you feel more in control, you are certainly welcome to think that," Sherlock said, sitting himself down.

Robert came in carrying the roast and John and Emily had the bread and vegetables. John moved to the chair next to Sherlock. "Gravy!" Emily said, running back into the kitchen. "Okay," she said, "that's everything." She sat down at the head of the table.

Mycroft sat across from Sherlock and John and Robert sat at the other end.

"It looks and smell delicious, Emily," Robert said.

"I agree," said Sherlock. Everyone passed the food until their plates were full. Even Mycroft's. As they began to eat, Emily said, "Shall we do compliments or grievances first?"  
  
"Grievances," Sherlock and Mycroft said in unison.

"All right," Emily said, "but keep this civil. Please remember the purpose: this isn't just my providing snacks while we watch one of your fights."

John looked around the table and waited for someone to start so he could get a proper feel for what exactly they were supposed to be doing. Mycroft waved his hand to Sherlock for him to start. 

Sherlock made a little cough. "I just have one issue I'd like to bring up." He turned to look at John. "I just wanted to say that I'm slightly concerned about your guilt tripping me at home. Like smoking and eating and sleeping. I know you have my best interest in mind, but I hope you will be patient so we can avoid arguments." He smiled softly at him. "What do you think?"

John hadn't expected to be called out like that and he flushed lightly, nodding. "I . . .yes," he agreed. "Sorry. I will . . .will be more patient and not hassle you so much," he said, offering a smile. 

Emily smiled. "Well, I think that's one of the nicest outcomes to a grievance yet," she said. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Is my grievance allowed to be this silly tradition?"

"No, it's not," Emily said.

Mycroft said, "Can I pass?"

"No," Emily said.

"Can you come back to me then?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Fine," Emily said. "Anything you need to bring up, Robert?"

"I suppose my only grievance is I'd like to do this more. I wish the boys came to visit more," Robert said.

Emily said, "That was mine as well!" They smiled at each other.

"Perhaps John and I can try to come more frequently," Sherlock said, looking at Mycroft. 

John nodded. "I would like that. I really enjoyed visiting."

"He would have never come here if it weren't for me," Mycroft pointed out. 

"Well then, thank you, Mycroft," John said, raising his glass. "My grievance is Sherlock smoking, but we've just sorted that so it looks like it's your turn," he smiled. 

"I don't want to play," Mycroft said. 

"Fine," Emily said. "I retract my grievance about visits and make my grievance about your refusal to play. I can only presume you have no response, so we shall now move on to compliments. I'll start. Sherlock, you have made an excellent choice in a mate. And John, I think you have as well." She smiled at them both and reached over to tap John's hand. 

John grinned and flushed lightly. "Thank you. Um . . . my compliment is not only how lucky I am to have Sherlock, but also how wonderful his family is. My own isn't so much so it's nice to have you all," he said. 

Sherlock went next. "My compliment is that I appreciate both of your kindness to John and me. I have never really been involved with anyone like this, and it means a lot that you have been so accepting." Sherlock smiled at his mother and father and then reached over to hold John's hand. He squeezed it so John would know he also appreciated him.

John smiled and laced their fingers. 

"My compliment is this delicious meal," Robert grinned.  

Everyone turned to look at Mycroft.

"Fine," he said, "My compliment is that John's suit looks very smart."  
  
Sherlock laughed. "You are so consistent, Mycroft, you really are."

John flushed lightly and grinned. "Thanks, Mycroft," he said, raising his glass. 

Just to be childish, Sherlock said, "I picked it out. So I suppose that compliment's also meant for me."

"You did not. I sent it to John," Mycroft countered. 

"Did you?" Emily asked. "That's odd."  
  
"No, it's generous," Mycroft said.

Robert said, "I don't understand."

Emily said, "To be honest, I don't eith-- wait a minute, were you two dating before Sherlock got involved? Please tell me this isn't some kind of love tri--" 

"No!" Sherlock and John interrupted. "It's nothing like that," Sherlock said. "Mycroft met John after he moved into the flat." He sat back a little in his chair now that that had been clarified. "But he's right, he did buy the suit. Perhaps you want to explain why you did that, Mycroft? Your generosity usually has an end game. What was it this time? Do tell."

Mycroft looked so upset to have tripped up like that. "I just knew they were going to be visiting and wanted John prepared for this little . . . game," he said, waving his hand. 

"Well, that was very sweet of you, Mycroft, wasn't it, Robert? I suppose John's like a brother-in-law you to now -- it's so sweet that you all get along."

"It was sweet," Sherlock said, grinning. "That's the word I'll think of now when I think of you dear brother: sweet."

"Oh, shut up," Mycroft grumbled, swallowing down the rest of his drink. 

John couldn't help chuckling. 

There was silence for a little while as everyone concentrated on their food. Sherlock smiled as John took a second helping of mashed potatoes. "Mrs Hudson will want the details of the meal," he said to Emily, "I'll let her know how delicious it is."

"Thanks, Sherlock," Emily said. "Perhaps your father and I could come to London one day and the four of us could take her out to dinner? I've always appreciated how she's looked after you. Is she pleased about you and John or does she feel she's no longer needed now?"

"Mrs Hudson had been pushing us together since I moved in, so when it became official nothing really changed for her," John said. 

Sherlock smiled, imagining her possible actual reaction. He pushed his plate a bit away and leaned back a little, lifting his arm and resting on the back of John's chair.

John smiled over at him and finished his drink.

"We'll need to leave before eight," Mycroft said. "That is, if you'd like to ride back with me." He turned to look at his mother. "Sorry, Mother, but it's unavoidable."  
  
"As long as we have time to help with the clean up," Sherlock said. "I'm sure you want to do the washing up."  
  
Mycroft said, "What's wrong with the dishwasher I bought you?"  
  
"She didn't want it," Robert said. 

"I don't mind helping," John added.

"No, no, dear. You're a guest . . . the boys will do it together."

Mycroft groaned loudly.

"John can supervise," Sherlock said. He smiled at John and then stood up and started carrying dishes into the kitchen.

John helped him take plates to the kitchen while Mycroft dragged his feet coming in. "How about I supervise?" he asked.

"No, but I'll let you choose -- wash or dry," Sherlock said. Mycroft thought about it for a moment and said, "Dry."

"Good choice," Sherlock said moving to the sink. "Keeping your hands in hot, soapy water can't be good for them. They said your hands reveal your age, you know," he added.

"Oh shut up, Sherlock," Mycroft said.

Sherlock sunk his hands into the sink and began scrubbing a pot. "Oh John," he said, "could you come over here for a moment? I've got a little itch on my mouth and my hands are all wet. Perhaps you could use your mouth to help me, please?" 

John grinned, moving over and pressing a kiss on his lips. 

"You don't have to pretend in front of me. Stop it."

"What do we have to do to convince you that we're really together?" John asked.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. John narrowed his eyes and considered pulling Sherlock in for a proper snog, but he merely shrugged and leaned close to Sherlock again.

"I think the more important question," Sherlock said, "is why do you care?"

"It's gross. And painfully sentimental, Sherlock. You'll be sorry."

"Excuse me?" John asked, slightly offended.

"Only stating the obvious, John. You like women, how long do you expect this to last?"

John flushed with anger and pushed himself from the counter. "I. Love. Him." He hated Mycroft then for saying the same thing Sherlock had been worried about. "And I plan on being with him as long as he'll have me."

Sherlock said nothing but continued working on the pan he was washing. When he rinsed it, he handed it to Mycroft to dry and said, "Gross? Interesting word choice," before going back to washing.

John glanced at Sherlock and then at Mycroft, who seemed to be ignoring Sherlock. He said, "As long as he'll have you? And how long do you think it'll be before he's bored, John? A simple man like yourself with a man who needs drugs to slow down?" He had the decency to lower his voice then, but John's anger just kept rising. "You're just the interesting flavour of the week."

"That's enough, Mycroft," Sherlock said. "Paint your picture accurately, please. My god, I have my faults, by 'flavour of the week'? How frequently do I move through flavours, Mycroft? Your words cannot hurt either of us, so that's enough now."

"I'm having a hard time believing any of this. A straight man in a relationship with a man who can hardly function in society. It just . . . doesn't make sense."

"And yet you're the one that suggested it," John said. "Why? That's what doesn't make any sense."

"That was . . .you were never supposed to agree. I assumed eventually he'd ask too much -- like pretending to be his boyfriend -- and yet here you are. Hmm...maybe he won't get bored with you. With this much control over you, I daresay you might be very interesting to have around."

"Enough, I said," Sherlock said. "I go back to my original question: why do you care? Why were you trying to push John one way or another? What does it matter to you?" He pulled the plug on the sink to drain it. "Even now, talking about my control over John, why are you doing this? Just to control my life?" 

"I know how you are when you get . . . involved, Sherlock. I am trying to protect you. This was all supposed to be a joke and here you are actually giving it a try. Why?"

"What you seem to forget, Mycroft, is that John also knows what I am like. If he will have me, it's nothing to do with you. You don't need to protect me anymore. I can take care of myself."

"I suppose we'll see about that," he said. He put the towel he was holding back on the counter and he walked out, leaving the two of them alone. 

John looked over at Sherlock but didn't know what to say. He was a bit stunned that Mycroft seemed to genuinely care about what happened to Sherlock -- about his feelings -- when both of them were so resistant to sentiment. "I'm not going to hurt you if I can help it," he said. "Not on purpose." 

"I'm sorry about all that. I guess things between my brother and me are complicated, I'm sorry he seems to be using you in our games," Sherlock said.

"I don't care about him, Sherlock. He can say whatever he wants about me," John said. "You know the truth and that's all that matters."

"And you know the truth about me, John," Sherlock said, "the good and the bad. I will never try to control you in the way he implies, and you must always say if you think I'm asking too much." 

John nodded. "You know I will, Sherlock. I also don't think you're going to get bored with me," he smiled. 

"I don't think I will either. I haven't yet, have I? And now you're offering me . . . new things as well. Don't let him make us worry anymore than we need to, okay?" He leaned in and gave John a quick kiss.

John nodded. "Okay," he smiled. "Let's go sit with everyone else before they come looking for us," he said. 

"Oh, there you are. Thanks again for cleaning up, boys," Emily smiled at them. 

"Where's Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"He went outside to make a phone call," Emily said. "Is everything okay? I heard you talking but didn't want to interrupt. Are you two fighting?"  
  
"No," Sherlock said. "We're fine. He was just a bit confused about boundaries, but I think we've cleared that up."

John glanced towards the door and assumed he was probably smoking. Or maybe ordering even more surveillance on John. He sighed at sat down beside Sherlock. "This was all very lovely. Thank you for having me over."

"Oh, anytime, John. Really," Emily smiled. 

"You can come do another pub quiz with me," Robert grinned.  

"I had a much better time than I thought I would," Sherlock said. He had meant it as a compliment but he wasn't quite sure that's how it sounded. "Thank you, I mean."

Emily chuckled at him and nodded in understanding. Mycroft came in then and didn't bother sitting. "Are you packed? The car is leaving in ten minutes." 

"What? I thought you said eight, son," Robert put his drink down and checked the time. 

"Something has come up. Sorry," Mycroft said. 

"I feel bad about how it's ending, but it would be so much easier to ride with Mycroft," Sherlock said. "I think all our stuff's together, but I'm going to change out of these clothes for the ride." He stood up and gave his mum a kiss. This was the second time he'd done that, and surely they both knew that was quite unusual. He went up and changed before bringing the bags down.

John was caught up in saying goodbye and didn't bother holding them up to change. He wasn't too uncomfortable and they would be home soon anyways. He took his bag from Sherlock and went through another round of goodbyes before following the boys out to the car. He thanked them again and climbed in, sitting beside Sherlock. 

As the car pulled off, Sherlock said, "Are you going to be Mycroft-y the whole way home, Mycroft, or can you be pleasant for at least part of the ride?" 

"Shut up," Mycroft said, pulling out his phone and typing away quickly. 

John glanced up at Sherlock before shifting and leaning on his shoulder. "Well, I had a nice time," he said. 

"I did as well. I'm looking forward to getting home, though," he said, reaching for John's hand and just fiddling with it a bit.

John nodded. "Me too." He moved his hand and laced his fingers into Sherlock's. He caught Mycroft glancing at them but he didn't say anything. He just wanted the ride to be smooth and quick. 

Sherlock leaned against John and sat quietly for a while. It was just good being by him.

John closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet, letting his mind wander as he lost himself in the movements of the car. At some point he must have dozed off because when he opened his eyes again he felt groggy and a bit disoriented. "Are we almost home?" he asked, stretching and checking the time. 

"Ten minutes," Mycroft said without looking up from his phone. 

Sherlock shifted and sat up a little. When they arrived at the flat, he let John get out first and then as he grabbed his bag and left the car, he looked up at Mycroft and said, "Thank you." 

Mycroft looked up at him. He merely nodded before slowly going back to his phone.

John was unlocking the door and glancing back, hoping they weren't fighting again.

Sherlock walked up, standing behind John with his hand on John's hip. "We're home now, but we're different," he said. "Things are different now."

John nodded, leaning into the touch. "Let's get upstairs," he murmured. He pushed open the door and led the way up to the flat.


	10. Home

Sherlock dropped his bag and hung up his coat and scarf. "Let's have a cup of tea," he said. "There's a message on the phone, can you check it -- which reminds me . . . I don't know if I should say anything or not, but that date you were supposed to be having this weekend . . . did you reschedule it?" He looked down at the kettle.

"No, I cancelled before we left and had intended on calling back but now obviously there's no need," John said. "The message is from Lestrade-new case."

"Tomorrow, yeah? Let's just be by ourselves -- no Lestrade, no Mrs Hudson, no one but us tonight," Sherlock said carrying the tea in and plopping down on the sofa.

"I agree," John nodded, moving to sit down beside him. He curled up against Sherlock and got his own tea. "I missed being alone with you -- even though it was only two days and it had a different meaning then. You know what I mean, yeah?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I hope you don't end missing that again, I mean, because you've got sick of the new stuff." He took a sip of tea. "I'm sorry -- I guess I feel a little nervous again . . . today felt normal, this new thing between us at my parents' and now all of a sudden, being back here, I'm reminded it's new again . . . being back here." He turned and looked at John's face. "Are you sure . . . you still want me like that?"

John nodded. "I am very sure. Especially here where we can't be bothered and I'll have you all to myself," he grinned.

Sherlock put his hand to John's chin, turning and lifting it slightly. He moved in and kissed him softly on the lips, his hand dropping to grip John's shoulder.

John shifted and pressed into the kiss, bringing his own hand to Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock pulled back from the kiss for a second. "Still find this interesting?" Sherlock said smiling.

"If you gave me a chance to properly explore I could answer you," John answered, trying to catch his lips again.

"All right then, I'm all yours," Sherlock said, leaning back and throwing his arms open dramatically against the sofa.

"You goof," John grinned, climbing up on top of him and pressing a hard kiss on his mouth. After a bit he moved his lips along Sherlock's jaw line and down to his neck, kissing and sucking on the skin there.

Sherlock laughed but then John's mouth was on his and he took John's kiss. When he started kissing his neck, Sherlock lifted his hands and held onto John's hips. He tipped back his head a little so John could reach more of his neck.

"We should move to the bedroom," John murmured between kisses. "I've got a lot . . . to explore."

"Yes," Sherlock said standing and grabbing John's hand. Then he turned and said, "Whose room?"

"Mine, I think. I'll have . . . you know. Things we'll need," he smiled.

"You mean pillows and blankets?" Sherlock said, smiling. He followed John up to his room. He stood at the end of John's bed and then sat down on it.

John stood in front of Sherlock and started to slowly take his clothes off. "You too, please," he murmured, shedding his vest and starting on the buttons of his shirt.

Sherlock stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He slipped off his shoes, unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them.

"I'm a little nervous," Sherlock said. "It's been a long time."

John nodded. "It's my first time. Sort of," he added, starting on his trousers now. "But I trust you and hopefully you trust me and we'll just . . . do what feels comfortable, okay?" He shimmied slightly out of his pants and admired Sherlock for a minute. 

Sherlock stepped forward and put his hands on John's cheeks. He leaned in and kissed him softly and then pressed into him, kissing him harder.

John hummed as he kissed back, gently steering him back to the bed. As he tumbled down John followed, keeping the kiss going as they shifted and John climbed on top of him. He broke away and pressed his mouth to Sherlock's shoulder, starting his slow descent. "Remember where my mouth was going?" he asked quietly, flicking his tongue over Sherlock's nipple before kissing it properly. He nipped his way across and did the same to the other one. 

Sherlock pressed his head back into the pillow, letting John's mouth move down his body. He took a deep breath and relaxed himself, just trying to enjoy the sensations. He lifted one hand and rested it on John's shoulder. "That feels good," he said softly.

"You are delicious," he murmured, moving along his belly now. Sherlock wasn't exactly muscular, but John dipped his tongue into the natural dips of his muscles, kissing and sucking small red marks as he moved not only lower, but across as well. 

Sherlock felt himself getting hard as he noticed both his pulse and his breathing quicken. "God, John," Sherlock said, "Your mouth . . . please."

"And you wanted me to just observe," he chuckled softly. He continued down through Sherlock's groin but avoided touching his cock just yet, wanting to save that for very last, wanting him to really want it. It had been a long time since he'd done anything like this, and if Sherlock was desperate, maybe he wouldn't notice John's nerves.

Sherlock shifted his legs a bit. He could feel the urge taking over and his hips rocked a bit upwards. "John, please . . .just touch me at least," he moaned, "it's getting too much . . . I can't wait anymore."

John brought his hand up and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock, stroking slowly as he kissed down his inner thigh, crossed over and started up the other thigh. "I told you, I'd be exploring," he smiled softly, nipping at the soft skin near his groin. 

"I know," Sherlock said, "but it almost hurts how much I want . . . that feels good."

At the word 'hurts' John moved to hover his mouth over the head, considering just breathing on it for a second. But Sherlock said he was hurting. So he took a deep breath, and he sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing up and down steadily as he tried to adjust his mouth around him, tried to get used to his movements and the feel of it. 

Sherlock gasped at the feeling -- god, he hadn't missed it until this very moment and then he wondered how he had managed to live so long with John without this ever happening before. He lifted his hips just a little, not pushing, just longing for the warm, wetness of John's mouth.

John hummed and bobbed a bit deeper, stroking what he couldn't fit. He knew it would take a few times before he could take him down and he looked forward to the practice. He swirled his tongue along the bottom, pressing his tongue against the skin. 

"God," Sherlock moaned as he reached down and rested his hand in John's hair. "I want to touch you as well," he said softly.

John slowly pulled off, his hand still moving up and down. "Just a bit longer, okay?" he murmured, sucking him down again. The fingers of his free hand rubbed his stomach lightly. It was so much different -- better -- with someone he loved. He was enjoying it, wanting to do it and wanting to make Sherlock feel so very good. 

Sherlock looked down at John. "Look at me for a second," he said, "Thank you, thank you."

John hummed around him, keeping his gaze up as he continued to move up and down, not very quickly, but steadily enough so they could both enjoy it. He flicked his tongue over the head now when he came up. 

"Fuck," Sherlock said, "I can't, John, it's too good, please, you either need to let me come or stop for a minute . . . "

John pulled off and nodded, laying his head on Sherlock's hip and pressing small kisses there. "Just breathe," he murmured. "I just wanted to taste you, but I want more tonight."

Sherlock tried to pull John up closer to him. He wanted their bodies pressed together, he wanted to kiss John, he wanted to make John feel as good as he was making him feel.

John crawled up and lay beside him, almost on top of him, curling into the warmth of his body. 

"Jesus, John," Sherlock said, kissing his mouth and then his neck. He slid his hand down John's body, moving to the front and holding John's cock. "You really are making me crazy," he said as he started a slow stroke on John's cock. He turned so they were facing each other as he continued to suck on John's skin.

John rolled his hips gently into Sherlock's hand. "I'm going to take that as a compliment," John breathed, sighing and tilting his head a bit for Sherlock. 

Sherlock nipped at John's skin and then slid his body down slightly to kiss across his collarbone and then suck each of his nipples. He used his knee to separate John's legs and moved his hand down to pull gently on John's balls before moving back to his cock, smearing the precome to help smooth his movement. "You're so sexy," Sherlock said against John's chest.

John squirmed as Sherlock stimulated so many sensitive parts at once. "Must have rubbed off from you," he smiled, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair. 

Sherlock moved down just a bit more and breathed out onto the warm skin of John's belly. He dipped his chin and used his hand to guide John's cock to his lips. He put them around the tip and swirled his tongue as he let his hand stroke the rest. He could taste John on his tongue as he then slid it down John, pressing it flat, before curling the tip to draw a line back up it.

John moaned loudly and gripped his hair. "Feels . . . very good," he murmured, shifting his hips a bit. He tried to look down, wanting to see that lovely mouth wrapped around him, but he couldn't just yet so he let his head fall back again with a pleased sigh.  

Sherlock sucked John, pressing him as far into his throat as he could before pulling back and moving down again. His hand moved between John's thighs where he gripped before moving to John's balls, letting his fingers brush against John's hole.

John gasped softly and bit his lip, twitching under his touch. This was going to be an interesting night. His fingers curled in Sherlock's hair to let his know he was fine, his breathing quick with nerves and excitement. 

Sherlock slid John from his mouth and looked up. "I want to use my fingers. Can I? Do you have anything . . . that might help?"  
  
John nodded. "In the drawer," he murmured, stretching to reach it for him. He passed the bottle down, laying flat again and trying to relax his body. 

Sherlock poured some into his hand and then moved down the bed. He used one hand to tip John's cock back into his mouth and his other to slick everywhere between John's legs. He rubbed his fingers over John's hole and then lifted his head. "Relax your body and if you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?"

John nodded. "I will," he said, raising his head again. He could see properly now and bit his lip as Sherlock took him back into his mouth. After watching for a bit, he lay back flat and focused as much as he could on relaxing. 

Sherlock let his index finger hover before slowly pushing the tip in. The muscles were tight around his finger as he slowly eased it in. He couldn't help wondering how it'd feel to fuck John and that thought made his cock ache. "You okay?" he asked, looking up at John's face. He kissed him softly on the belly. 

John nodded. "M'good," he murmured, squirming a bit as he got used to the feeling of it. 

Sherlock moved his finger in and out, mimicking the rhythm he was using with his mouth. After a few minutes, he slipped in a second finger. He didn't know how far John wanted to go but, just in case, Sherlock wanted to make John comfortable. Even just this was so intimate, he knew he was sharing something new with John and this made him feel good.

John moaned loudly and squirmed harder, feeling both fingers with a slight burn. Just like the blowjob, John found he wanted more because he was with Sherlock. Even though he knew it could be pleasurable, he never fingered himself. Now that he was enjoying it with Sherlock he wanted more. "Sherlock," he moaned softly, curling and uncurling his fingers again in his hair. 

Sherlock stretched his fingers and sped their movement a little. "God, John," he said, "I want you so much . . . I've never wanted like this." He curled his fingers to brush against John's prostate as he swallowed down his cock again.

John called out and arched off of the bed. "I want you too," he said quickly, the words melting into another moan. "Oh God."

Sherlock shifted his body up John's, keeping his fingers moving into him. "Can we try?" he said, kissing John's face.

"Yes," John breathed, moving his face to catch those kisses. "Yes, please."

Sherlock gave John a long, soft kiss. "I love you," he said. "I probably always have but now I know." He slid his fingers out of John. He reached for a condom, poured more lube into his hand and then stroked himself carefully -- he was so excited he couldn't take much more. He moved himself back between John's legs, shifting his hips to line himself up. He pressed the tip in slowly, whispering, "Relax yourself, but tell me if you want to stop," before pushing further in. Then he placed his hands on either side of John's shoulders and lowered himself to kiss John again. "Am I okay to move? I'll go slow." 

John dipped his head into the crook of Sherlock's neck and bit his shoulder lightly, groaning as Sherlock pushed inside of him. Then he nodded, moving to look up into his eyes again. "You can move," he murmured, pecking kisses on his lips. He brought his hands up to his back and held on tightly. 

Sherlock started a slow roll of his hips, pressing further in and then back. He kept it slow, memorising the movement -- the pressure of John's body around his cock, the warmth of their skin, the tension in his own muscles. "God, you feel good, John," he moaned, "fuck, it feels so good."

John couldn't make words come. His mouth hung open in a silent moan as he tried to remember to breath. He felt everything -- every inch sliding back and forth, every slight touch of skin on skin that happened by accident, Sherlock's breathing, Sherlock's moans -- it was the greatest thing he'd ever felt, ever experienced. He started to move, bucking his hips up to keep up with Sherlock. 

Sherlock tried not to worry, but he knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer -- it was like it was new again and the pleasure was just so good. He let his body move more freely now, meeting John's movements. He leaned down and kissed John roughly, greedily, wanting every part of him.

John's fingers gripped into his skin and the kiss seemed to wake him up--to jolt him out of his daze. "That's . . . you feel so fucking good," he moaned against Sherlock's mouth. "M'close," he murmured, reaching down to stroke himself. "Close."

Sherlock leaned on one arm and slid his other hand to John's cock, gripping it and trying to stroke him, though the movements were quite chaotic. "John, I'm going to come, I'm . . . I . . . ," Sherlock called John's name loudly as he came, pushing inside, his whole body freezing for a moment. He felt like his breath stopped, but then it came back and he focused and stroked John's cock, kissing and sucking on his neck. "Come, John," he said.

"God, you," John mumbled before he let go. He groaned as the orgasm started, shouting out for Sherlock as he arched up and pressed his body into Sherlock's. Waves coursed through his body like after-shocks, his body jerking and shuddering with each one until finally he slumped down, feeling weak and immensely satisfied. "Sherlock," he said, panting to catch his breath.  

Sherlock squeezed his arms around John, needing him as close as possible. He felt their chests heave against each other. He felt so connected -- in a way he'd never felt with another person. "John," he said softly over and over.

"That was . . .I .. it was so good, Sherlock. I'm glad we shared this," he went on. He held Sherlock tightly, "I love you."

"John, this is so . . . big, this means so much," he looked down and kissed him again, before sliding himself out and over to the side. He curled around John, holding him close.

John nodded. "I know." He pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head, shifting to get more comfortable. "I'm happy, Sherlock. Honest. It was . . .fantastic. You were fantastic."

"I'm happy, too, John," Sherlock said. "I'm happy." He said it again -- he couldn't remember the last time he had said that, but it was so true. John had made his life happier since the moment he met him and now, this, had made him happier than he thought he'd ever felt.

John smiled and started to absently pet his hair. "I'm sleepy," John murmured after a few minutes. "You tired me out," he chuckled softly.  

"This has been quite a weekend," Sherlock said. "I'm exhausted from all of it." He curled in a little closer, relaxing into the bed.

John picked his head up and hummed as it flopped down again. He was already falling asleep.

Sherlock let his eyes close. Soon he was asleep, holding John. His boyfriend.


End file.
